


These Currents Which Bind Us

by Casstea



Series: 00Q Collections [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 63,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casstea/pseuds/Casstea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collection of 00Q fic</p><p>100: <span class="u">Bolt</span> - <i>'Q meets Athena in a coffee shop, and finds out that his past is not as distant as it first seemed.'</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knife's Point

**Author's Note:**

> Knife's Point
> 
> An idea that came to me when I really should be doing other things. This ship is destroying me.

At first it was merely a game.

Who could outwit the other, the look in the target’s eyes when the realisation dawned on them what he could do. He didn’t have the physical impression of someone twice his stature, with large building muscles he could flex and intimidate the other with.

But he did have his skills. The knife, for example, was his favourite weapon. Silent and stealthy as he, a weapon used for precision in his work.

More of a personal statement than a random killing machine.

His reputation preceded him, like a shadow cast before a person at dusk. Crowds would part before him as he swept through, long coat trailing behind him. He loved to move within the streams of the society, blending into the background and only striking until it was too late.

His name was rumoured by many, he himself used names like a different change of hat. However, there was one he did keep, his own name he had been given at birth, tucked away in the corner of his mind.

Quentin he was called. He preferred the nickname ‘Q’.

Short, snappy, unique, just like he was.

When he was tracked down by the security agencies of different countries, he simply dispatched them one by one. Each one was a work of art, a knife taken to the canvas of the human body to create a new sculpture, and new work of art.

However, there was one agent, one particular agent who Q did not kill on sight. Instead he teased and played with him, slipping in and out of view to keep the interest up. He was amused by the dedication this agent gave, the sheer British doggedness of not giving up on the chase.

Q was impressed, this agent had gained his respect. So one day he finally allowed himself of be captured by the other. When his hands were tied behind his back and his knives were taken from his person, Q asked the other agent his name.

Bond, James Bond, was the reply.

That was the start of the end for Q. He had fallen into the one trap he had not allowed himself to feel. For being a cold, hard, efficient weapon meant you could not allow any such attachment to your target.

But then, Q reasoned, he didn’t really care what he was supposed to think. He was a creature of instinct, of blood on skin, of steel slicing through flesh.

So when he felt affection for this Bond, Q welcomed the feeling like a drowning man greeted air.

-x-x-x-

Years passed, yet in their turbulent lifestyles there was a constant thread between the two men, until one day, Q found himself in the same situation he had been when he had first allowed the mysterious and alluring Bond to enter his life.

However, this time, there was a tension in the room, an unseen pressure choking Q from the outside.

Q should have expected it really, he should have accounted for this variable.

Secret Agents, however broken, where always attached to their moral principles. Moral principles which refused them to see what Q was trying to achieve when he wanted to program a new age for the oppressed, to take down the wealthy who were squandering their power and riches for the good of themselves and not others.

So when the barrel of the gun was pressed to his temple, Q merely smiled. He didn’t reach for his knives even though he could feel their cold metal against his skin. Instead he whispered words that told Bond it was okay, he understood.

The gunshot was the last thing Q heard.

-x-x-x-

Bond stood on a bridge.

Busy traffic flowed behind him, the constant blowing of horns and screech of tyres reminding him of home. Below him, the murky river waters flowed below him, the monsoon season having pushed its banks to bursting point. No one was on the river at that moment, the waters were far too turbulent for people to use.

He drew out a knife from his pocket. It had an simple black hilt, with no embellishments or markings on it. However, as someone who knew weaponry, Bond could clearly see that this knife was very well made.

It had been as dangerous as its owner.

Bond did not feel regret for his actions, not remorse. He was far too well schooled in his own emotions to allow such feelings. But there was a small inkling of respect for the man who had used the knife he held for such nefarious ends. They had both been weapons, both used by others for causes beyond their own. The difference was that Bond believed in his causes, whereas Q had not.

He dropped the knife into the river, not caring to watch it be eaten by the tumultuous waters below, and walked away into the swelling crowds behind him.


	2. Death Do Us Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Do Us Part
> 
> He’s not making it back this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with ‘Angst. Lots. Of. Angst’.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

It didn’t take Bond long to assess the damage. The blood pooled over his jacket, seeping him of energy which he barely could cling on to.

Fingers slipped over his earpiece as he struggled to put it back into place again.

_“007 please report,”_

The voice,  _his_  voice, so calming and professional drove away the pain. Bond hitched a breath, lungs weezing from the punctured lung, vision going hazy.

This was it, the end of Bond. In the desert in the middle of bloody nowhere.

Most importantly not in England.

Not with Q.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it back,”

Bond rushed the sentence, words slurring together, the sentence trailing off in the end in a bloody and gurgled splutter.

“ _An evac team is on their way to you now,”_

His voice sounded more rushed, panic setting in. He could see the data, his Q had always been good with computers.

Maybe he’ll say something nice at his funeral.

“They won’t make it,”

Bond wasn’t sure about that, but then his brain was beginning to shut down. His lungs burned, brighter than the pain which seared through his side from the bullet wound, gasping for air he couldn’t get.

“ _James,”_

“Q,”

Bond forced his eyes closed, both against the angry daggers of agony which clawed its way along his side, and from the sound of Q’s voice.

Desperation, shock, grief.

“Goodbye, Q,”

The words escaped his lips, a gentle whisper released from his dying frame. Bond slumped back against the hot desert sand, his grip on life fading like the sunlight retreated at dusk.

_“James? James? James?”_

The voice crackled over the earpiece, feeding information into the ear of the agent, vibrating the eardrum, sending a last desperate signal to the agent known as James Bond.

But there was no one alive at the other end to receive it.


	3. Realms of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond comes back from a mission, Q is asleep on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by the wonderful hannahthefright who asked for ‘Q falls asleep at his desk after days of keeping James safe on a mission. James comes in and sees him, cue any fluffiness you like! Maybe James wrapping his jacket around Q’s shoulder, but it’s massive?’. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q branch was deserted when Bond entered. Well, as deserted as Q branch ever could be, there were still a few interns milling about, checking up on overseas operatives. It was a quiet night for all, after all Bond had just spent the last month in the depths of Hong Kong trying to infiltrate a drug smuggling baron who was set to take over the world.

“Where is he?” Bond asked one of the interns. She quirked her mouth up in a smile, and gestured towards Q’s small office that lay off the main Q branch floor. Bond nodded his thanks, and crept across the floor using all the stealth he had gained over his years of active service, peeking around the door of Q’s office.

He couldn’t help but allow a smile to appear on his face.

Q had collapsed on his desk, gangly arms spread out at an angle, which if Bond hadn’t known better, was almost impossible. His scrabble mug was knocked over, empty of any of the caffeine which usually sustained Bond’s dear Quartermaster. His computer was in sleep mode, obviously Q hadn’t been able to turn it off before exhaustion had overtaken him.

Slipping around the side of the desk, Bond navigated his way around the back of Q’s chair. As with most offices at MI6, there was a small fold-down bed at the back of them, which one could pull out and kip on if the operation ran later than expected. Q, being Q, hadn’t even got to the stage of pulling the bed out, simply collapsing at his desk with exhaustion.

“You silly geek,” Bond whispered, releasing the mechanism on the side of the wall and lowering the bed to the floor. It wasn’t anything special, more like a simple camp bed, but it would suffice.

Careful to not wake the sleeping quartermaster, Bond managed to snake his arms around Q’s gangly frame and slowly lift him out of the chair and onto the bed. Q jerked slightly, but the exhaustion was enough to keep him well in the realms of REM level sleeping.

Having lowered Q onto the camp bed, Bond shrugged off his jacket, placing it over the shoulders of the sleeping man. It looked slightly ridiculous as Q was of a much slimmer build than Bond, but the Quartermaster stirred in his sleep, clutching the coat around him like a blanket.

Bond slid to the floor quietly next to Q, hand reaching out and pushing some of the dark hair that had fallen across Q’s face out of the way.

“James?” Q murmured from under Bond’s heavy jacket.

“Sleep, Q,” Bond replied, pulling the jacket up around Q’s shoulders, “I’m home now.”


	4. Definitely Not Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond chats up a woman, Q tries to get him back on the mission again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely anon who prompted me with ‘One where James is with a woman on a mission and Q heard it over the earpiece’. Might have veered off the prompt a wee bit, but hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“What’s your name?” Q heard Bond ask over the intercom. Stupid idiot was supposed to be finding the target in the busy bar, not chatting up random women.

Again.

“That’s hardly your best pick up line,” Q whispered into the earpiece.

“Jasmine,” the woman replied.

“And that’s hardly a good name,” Q responded, typing furiously into his keyboard. Bond could be an arse when he wanted to.

And he was playing the ‘I’m an arse’ card at that moment. Q still felt it was unfair, it was hardly  _his_  fault that his Aston got a scratch in it from their activities a few weeks back.

“What’s yours?” the woman asked in a sultry manner.

“Bond, James Bond,” Bond replied in his trademark swarve style. Q forced himself to focus on the mission data which was spilling over the screen, and not Bond’s voice.

Bond was playing the arse card, and Q was not going to rise to it.

“007,” Q barked down the earpiece, “the target is on the move out of the back of the bar. Please do me a favour and do your job.”

Q watched the CCTV feeds, waiting for Bond to give a response. The agent merely looked up at the CCTV camera and gave a stare of  _OhpleaseQarewejealousnow?_  down the lense.

Bond might be an insufferable git, but he was Q’s insufferable git.

“Bond, the target will be halfway across the globe once you’ve disentangled yourself from that woman’s arms,” Q remarked, “hurry up.”

Bond slowly managed to disentangle himself from Jasmine’s arms and dash in the direction of the exit.

“Please don’t say you were jealous, Q,” James asked down the intercom as he flew out the back exit of the restaurant and onto the trail of the target.

“Just focus on the mission 007,” Q replied.


	5. Something about Scrabble Mugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about Scrabble Mugs
> 
> Their relationship is defined by banter until the Scrabble Mug Incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For scarvesandscrewdrivers who prompted me with a relationship development between Bond/Q. Um, this might have veered off the original prompt a bit, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“What have you broken 007?” Q asked, not looking up from his screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Not so much broken as lost,” Bond replied, “but I did manage to save this.”

He slid the broken and battered watch with built in scanner and radio across the desk. Q paused in his typing for a moment and glared at bond.

“Save?” he asked.

“It’s in once piece,”

“Saving something means that it is usable again, Bond,” Q replied, picking up the watch, “this is not usable again.”

“Depends on your use,” Bond replied, raising his eyebrow knowingly.

“I highly doubt that this could be used for what you’re thinking of, Bond,”

“How do you even know what I’m thinking of?”

“I’m your Quartermaster, Bond,” Q commented, “I know you better than anyone.”

“Even a lover?” Bond hinted.

Q raised an eyebrow.

“Even them.”

-x-x-x-

“Q,” Bond hissed into the earpiece, “get the schematics of the building please.”

“I’m trying 007,” Q’s voice came from the earpiece, “the firewall is mutating with every attempt.”

“What was this about ‘being able to do more damage before you had a first cup of Earl Grey’?” Bond questioned, slipping into a crouch, gun in hand ready to shoot any assailant who came his way. The contact lens eyepiece was feeding him constant information,  CCTV streams kept flicking before his eye as he watched the guards running about, the fire Bond had started minutes earlier catching them off guard.

However, now he was about to enter the complex series of corridors that would lead to the computer’s mainframe, and he needed a map.

“Got it!” Q exclaimed, as a blueprint of the floorplan appeared in Bond’s view.

“Finally,” the agent commented, taking a left.

“You try and hack into a computer mainframe,”

“I have you to do that,”

“I’m not your personal servant, 007,”

“Really?”

“In your dreams, 007, now get back to work.”

-x-x-x-

It was during Bond’s tenth mission with Q as his Quatermaster that disaster struck - Q’s scrabble mug was broken.

The intern responsible was subjected to the death stare of the Quatermaster, a stare which even put Bond on edge. It was a stare that said  _I’llhackyourcomputerlater,_ and considering the white knuckles and the quivering stature, everyone evacuated the room pronto.

When Bond returned to MI6 (he had been on the flight home when he had heard the dreaded news) he ensured that he put a visit into one of the shops on the road to MI6, the type which sold interesting presents to give to people on birthdays. Sure enough, he found an identical scrabble mug lurking at the back of the shop. For kicks he bought a box of Earl Grey Tea (the expensive kind, the one Q always drank on special days). It helped sometimes to do background research on his Quartermaster.

That was what Bond justified it to himself as, background research.

Definitely just research.

Definitely.

When he entered Q branch, present hidden behind his back, he found Q alone in the middle of the room, fingers flying across the keyboard. He was coding again, he always did that when he was stressed, and focused entirely on his work.

“I thought you might like this,” Bond said, sweeping up to the table and bringing out the mug from behind his back and placing it on the table. Q paused in his coding, staring at the mug, then up at Bond, and then back at the mug again.

“Is this proof that you have feelings?” Q asked.

“Just for a few,” Bond replied with a suggestive wink.

Q smiled.

Whenever anyone asked, later on, when they had become an item, Q always rose his scrabble mug in a toast and took a sip of tea.


	6. Beyond the Darkness and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was molded by fire and haunted by darkness. He thought no one would be able to trust him, but then he was proven wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely mana-moi-meme-moitie who prompted me a fic based around the ‘Skyfall’ song by Adele. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

_This is the end_

_Hold your breath and count to ten_  
Feel the earth move and then  
Hear my heart burst again

Heat haunted his dreams.

The burning wood, crackling and creaking around him. Shots were heard,  _bang, bang, bang_ , repetitive, one after another.

He was scared, this was fear he felt. He was in the hot pits of hell itself, burning, burning, burning.

 _For this is the end_  
I’ve drowned and dreamed this moment  
So overdue, I owe them  
Swept away, I’m stolen

Darkness taunted his childhood.

It asked unknown questions, postulated theories which he didn’t want to accept, or listen to.

_What happened if?_

It is a question which haunts him, clings to him like a shadow. It is his dark past, his baptism of fire and fear which made him who he was.

He has to accept that part of him, although he doubts no one else ever would.

 _Let the sky fall, when it crumbles_  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together

 _Let the sky fall, when it crumbles_  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together  
At Skyfall  
  


It was hard, for one such as himself, born of fire, haunted by darkness, to ever trust another.

Of course, he had people he knew. He had colleagues, he had one night stands, he had enemies, he had acquaintances.

But friends, no, not friends. Being a friend required something more of him to give, a part of his darkness, a part of the fire that forged him.

He didn’t want to give that, he didn’t want to burden another with his pains.

It wasn’t worth it, he told himself, to even try.

  
Skyfall is where we start  
A thousand miles and poles apart  
When worlds collide, and days are dark  
You may have my number, you can take my name  
But you’ll never have my heart

There is a moment in life when he realises that the Quatermaster is much more than a collegue.

Or a one night stand.

Or an acquaintance.

Maybe it was the calming voice in his ear, the concern which threaded through his silky words, words which wove themselves into his very bones.

He didn’t know what it was, but he felt a feeling he had not felt in a long while. It cleansed him slightly of the burning scars and dark shadows which he drew in his wake.

 _Trust_ , he thought to himself,  _this is what this is._

 _Let the sky fall, when it crumbles_  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together  
  
Let the sky fall, when it crumbles  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together  
At Skyfall  
  


It was when Q was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all manner of machines, blood marring his perfectly delicate face, did he realise that the beating feeling in his heart was much more than any simple form of trust.

It was a swooping feeling in his stomach when the other man’s hand clutched his, it was the smile on the others face when he returned from a mission.

He should have been safe, his Q should have been safe from any danger in MI6.

It was then that he swore to protect the Quartermaster lying in the hospital bed. It was an oath to himself, an oath to the words which were woven upon his very bones, an oath to be defined by his _now_  and not his past.

Love.

  
Where you go I go,  
What you see I see  
I know I’ll never be me, without the security  
Of your loving arms  
Keeping me from harm  
Put your hand in my hand  
And we’ll stand  
  


He found his shadows retreated when Q was there.

The darkness, the burning pits of hell which lurked in his dreams, seemed to detach themselves from his shoulders. It had been a cape he had worn for so long, that when the weight disappeared he felt like he could breath.

He wasn’t choaking any more, not with Q. He was able to breathe again, breathe the freedom of a new life, a life to live instead of to exist.

 _Let the sky fall, when it crumbles_  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together  
  
Let the sky fall, when it crumbles  
We will stand tall  
Face it all together  
At Skyfall

So when Bond looks at Q as the morning rays slide through the curtains and onto the bed, he smiles. He has found a reason now, beyond his pain.

Beyond Skyfall.  
  


 _Let the sky fall_  
We will stand tall  
At Skyfall


	7. Save Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q get’s captured. Bond has no mercy when getting him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful towers-of-february who prompted ‘Bond rescuing Q and being all bamf and protective’. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q felt pain.

It bit into his bones, its teeth sinking deep through flesh and muscle into the very core of his soul. His sight was impeded by the black eye and red blood was caked around his mouth.  His head hung in submission, in exhaustion.

His spirit was battered, so nearly broken. But then his captors who had been holding him for nearly two weeks had left him suddenly, called away by one of their brethren. There had been panicked sounds in their voices, gunshots echoing over their radio. They spoke in a language which Q did not understand, but the inflection was clear.

They were scared, someone had just broken in.

Q’s tired and broken mouth twitched into a smile, breaking the scabs that lined the cracks on his lips.

James had arrived, and he was out for blood.

x-x-x

There were a few times in Bond’s life where he let himself fall into the violence.

He had once learnt from a Japanese martial arts master about the focus one needed when fighting, similar to the muscle memory which allowed one to shoot so precisely after ours of practice. The fighting he had been taught during his time in the Navy, and then on entrance to the secret service, had been honed over the years to use the environment around him to his advantage.

One fell to the sharp twisting of his hands around the man’s neck. The next fell to a broken back and an elbow to the temple.

He had a gun, yes. But using his hands was more personal, it meant his enemy had to look him in the eye and fear him.

And fear him they would.

Another fell, neck crushed under a chain Bond had swiped from the warehouse floor. There were shouts in his ear to stay focused  but that was just noise to the thrum of blood in his veins that beat out a war drum to Bond’s actions.

He made his way quickly through the hideout, taking out guards as he went. Taking a radio from one of the dead guard’s belts, he clipped it to his jacket, placing the earpiece in his other ear to hear the frantic screeches of the remaining guards as they tried to regroup.

Bond picked up the machine gun from the dead guard’s arms, pocketing the spare magazines. The next area of the warehouse was an open plan room, akin to a boss battle in a game on the computer.

Bond was silent as a cat as he slipped into the main room, eyes darting around him for the hidden guards, positioning himself behind some good cover. The door, the door which Q lay behind, lay on the other side.

Chaos was let loose when Bond pulled the trigger.

x-x-x

Q raised his head, his whole body aching in protest.

Gunshots could be heard outside, the sounds of the fierce gun battle raging outside vibrating through the metal walls of his cell and into his broken and battered body.

Then silence.

Q felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, a feeling of the end of the pain, the end of his suffering.

Hope had arrived.

Q almost screamed in pain as the door to his cell was knocked in, spilling light into the almost pitch black room. He hadn’t seen light for almost two weeks, and the brightness of the outside world forced Q to shut his eyes.

He felt strong arms wrap around him, as nimble fingers undid the battered and bloody rope which held him in place. Q whimpered in pain as the rope fell away from his chaffed skin, collapsing forward into the strong body which now held himself upright. He kept his eyes tight shut, from fear of damaging his eyes from the brightness of the light. However, he didn’t need his sight to know that the arms which comforted him and the voice which whispered calm words into his ear belonged to his James.

He was free, finally.


	8. Scrabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q play board games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted me with ‘Q and Bond playing scrabble’. Sorry for the short length anon, but hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Games night had always been an event in their household.

It had started with poker (Q had lost very badly). Q had argued that Bond had an advantage from his years of playing the casinos, Bond had argued that Q was a sore loser.

So they moved to board games.

It started with cludo (which Q won), then moved to Monopoly (ended as a draw), then Jenga (neither had won that game, they had become distracted).

Now they were in the middle of a heated game of scrabble, where Bond was furiously pushing the letters around on his move, unable to form any sort of word.

Poker was easier than this, it was playing tells, playing the other players instead of the cards themselves. However, with this game you were playing a game against the English language itself.

And Q was winning, again.

Which was irritating.

“Are you going to make your move James?” Q asked.

Bond looked up at his Quartermaster.

“There isn’t a word!” Bond replied.

“There isn’t a word?” Q asked, leaning over to look at Bond’s tiles, stretching his neck in a rather attractive manner.

“James,” Q said, “you could make-”

There was a crash as the Quartermaster overbalanced and fell onto the agent.

The scrabble game was never finished after that.


	9. Return Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond returns home to Q after a bad mission. Q sets him right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with ‘Could you write some fluffy 00Q? There’s so many angst-y fics out there I’d love 007 coming home from a hard day of work and cuddles with Q.’ It might not have been as fluffy as you hoped, but I hope you like it anyway! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Someone was knocking at the door.

“Coming,” Q grumbled, pulling on his dressing gown as he switched on the hall light. Fumbling to put his glasses on his nose, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and tapped in the code that flicked up the camera image to show who was outside the door.

When he saw who he was, Q swore violently, tapping in the code to do the electronic locks from around the door and pulling it open.

James stood, arm raised against the doorframe, with a half empty bottle of wine in his hand. His hair was bedraggled, coat drenched from the rain that continued to hammer down outside.  He looked drained of energy, with only the alcohol fuelling his movements.

“What happened?” Q said, taking the bottle of wine out of Bond’s hand and looping an arm around the agent’s waist.

“Mission,” James slurred, “finished.”

“Yes,” Q said, “you were supposed to arrive home this morning. I’ve been worried sick.”

James looked up at Q with his best apologetic drunk smile.

James was very drunk. And for James to get drunk, Q estimated that the bottle he held in his hand must have been at least the fifth.

Q and James staggered into Q’s tiny hallway, Q manoeuvring to shut the door with a kick of his heel, the locks automatically clicking into place and the bleep on his phone confirming that it was secure.

The mission Bond had been on for the past few months had involved infiltrating a particularly dark organisation that even Bond had voiced his disgust about. The organisation had used a large investment back as a front for their operations in the Middle East, funnelling money around to ensure maximum profit. With the profit it bought the arms which supplied a network of terrorist cells that used them for nefarious ends that Q didn’t want to remind himself of.

“Come on, James,” Q muttered, placing the wine bottle on one side and taking the drunk and exhausted agent through to the bedroom. James muttered words under his breath, which sounded something like _You smell nice Q,_ and,  _I like your dressing gown_ , “you need sleep.”

James murmured something in reply as Q led the drunk James into the bedroom and deposited him on the bed.

“Q?” James slurred, as Q laid the agent back on the bed and picked up his legs so he was lying flat.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Q said, “stay there.”

Q dashed out of the bedroom and into the small kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the side, he filled it with water and took it back to James, thrusting it into his hand before perching on the bed next to the agent.

“Drink it,” Q said, “it won’t stop the hangover, not after how much you’ve drunk, but it might help.”

James glared at the Quartermaster, but drunk the water dutifully and handed the glass back to Q again.

It took another ten trips until Q was satisfied that James had rehydrated himself to a sufficient level to prevent a deathly hangover. With a severe glare, defeating James’ drunken protests, Q forced the agent into some dry clothes and into the bed. It was just big enough for the two of them to lie next to each other, slightly cramped but it was comfortable for both of them.

“Talk to you in the morning, James,” Q said, feeling the agent’s arm snake around his waist to pull him close. A small smile drew across his face, as he shut his eyes again and fell back into sleep once more.

James was back again, that was what mattered. He would find out what had caused the agent to turn to the alcohol in the morning. It was their method of coping; each would care for the other with the distance and respect which they had learnt over their respective careers. Both of them had dark pasts haunting them, and it would be a slow process as trust began to grow between them. 


	10. Hidden Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q have to make a run for it. Q seems to be much more experienced than Bond first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Piparminttuperhonen who prompted me with ‘One where it turns out Q is actually a better runner than Bond imagined?’. This might have veered a little off prompt, but hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You ready Q?” Bond asked the Quartermaster.

They stood in an abandoned alley, having just having to evacuate their base of operations (a hotel room) due to being found. Luckily, everything Q had needed was easily thrown into a backpack which Bond had slung over his shoulder. They had the information they needed, hidden in a memory stick in Q’s pocket, now they just had to get out.

“Please, 007,” Q replied, taking off his glasses and stowing them in his pocket, “I am actually capable of running away from the bad guys.”

“It’s not like the 1500m at school, Q,” Bond replied, “its much more of an assault course than anything.”

Q smiled dangerously. Bond had been working with the Quartermaster for months now and still found that Q had hidden depths. He hadn’t really been expecting Q to be able to quickly take out one of the people who had burst into their room unexpectedly, and Bond could swear that being able to lay out an armed assailant with a broken arm and numerous broken ribs was beyond the Basic Training MI6 supplied to its employees.

“I’ll outrun them easily,” Q replied, head poking out onto the busy street as he looked back at Bond and said.

“Meet at the rendezvous 007. Don’t be late.”

With that, the Quatermaster slipped out into the steady flow of people walking past in the busy city street, pulling the hood of his jacket up as he went. Bond paused for a few moments as he heard the loud footfalls of the assailants who were tracking them, allowing them to get a glance of his disappearing back before he dived off into the crowd.

x-x-x

It was when Bond realised that he only had one tail instead of two that he began to worry. Not for himself, of course, but for his Quartermaster who was trying to get the packet of information away safely.

Bond weaved between the crowd, taking the most complicated route to ensure that his trail could still keep sight of him but slow him down. He glanced upwards, looking for an exit, somewhere he could draw the trail out of the crowd to take him out, when he saw a man running across the tall rooftops of the building, nimbly jumping over the loose tiles, glancing behind him momentarily to look for an trail Bond couldn’t see.

Q.

You son of a- Bond thought, shaking himself out of his shock and pushing through the crowd, grabbing a fistful of pepper from a nearby market stall and diving into a nearby alley. Sure enough, his trail followed him into the dark space, gun drawn and ready to shoot.

However, before the trail could use his weapon, Bond threw the handful of pepper into the man’s face, swiftly kicking him in the side of his knee caps to force him to the ground and pulling the gun out of his hand before swiftly bringing the butt of the weapon down on the trail’s temple, knocking him out cold.

Bond stowed the weapon away, before he heard a click of a gun raised to his head.

“You shouldn’t let your guard down, Mr Bond,” the man said. Bond rolled his eyes, about to attack-

A palm shot out from behind the assailant, catching in one of the pressure points by his neck, crumpling the man to the ground.

“Come along 007,” Q said, kicking the gun out of the man’s hands and handing it to the agent, “you should know that the roofs are much quicker. Less traffic you know.”

Bond smiled at the smug Quartermaster. Apparently there was much more to Q than met the eye.


	11. Passing On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is dying, Q can only suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely anon who prompted me with ‘Q can hear Bond dying over the earpiece and there is nothing he can do to stop it’. This went rather angsty, but I hope you like it anon!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

Life was defined by many things. By beauty, by family, by love. It was defined by hatred and revenge, anger and lust. The base emotions, the human emotions. That was what made life real, made it tangible, made it precious.

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

Death, on the other hand, was defined by the unknown. By darkness and sadness. Grief was a monster which ate you from the inside out, consuming your spirit and soul until you came to a place in your mind, a dark corner of your existence, which asked you one question.

Do you allow yourself to be defined by grief? Or do you allow yourself to let go, to move on?

_Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

Helplessness was a feeling in between. It was the feeling of falling and losing control, of the hand slipping out of your grasp as your watched the other tumble down, down, down, away from you, disappearing from this world.

Q hated that feeling. And as he listened to the gurgled sounds of James’ breathing down the earpiece, he felt his control slip. Knuckles were white against the desk as his face crumpled, pure rage and fury at himself, at James, at the world.

“Q,” James whispered.

James’ vitals were on Q’s screen, his heartbeat beating out a weakening rhythm in front of him. Q didn’t need a medical man to tell him that James wouldn’t make it, not this time.

“Listen to me,” James’ whispered, “you find someone else, you move on Q,”

“No,” Q replied. He refused to give him, he refused to allow the course of events he knew was going to happen to allow them to run their course. The entire room was silent, watching at the Quartermaster’s barriers broke.

“I’m okay Q,” James said, his breathing uneven. His heartbeat had lowered considerably, a blip on the screen.

_Bleep._

“You hold on James,” Q said, sucking in air through his teeth as he fought furiously against the rage inside him.

“I’m okay Q,” James said, “I’m okay.”

_Bleep._

“Love you, James,” Q whispered, shutting his eyes and focussing on the sound of the agent’s breathing down the earpiece. Rattled, wheezing, staggered.

Dying.

“I won’t leave you,” James replied.

Because Bond was not the type of person to express his love through flowery words or dramatic monologues. Yet Q knew what James meant by those words, as a tear trickled down his cheek.

_Bleep._

Q could hear the convulsions now, as James fought to remain for a few more seconds in this world. Q let out a strangled cry, like a wounded animal, as he too was dying with James.

_Bleep._

Not long now.

“Q,” James’ voice whispered.

“James,” Q choked between tears.

_Beep._

“Goodbye, James,” Q said.

There was no reply.


	12. Waterdrops on a Glass Pane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q feels guilty over taking another’s life, Bond is there to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful aniorro who provided me with the prompt ‘James comforts Q in the shower just like he comforted Vesper in ‘Casino Royale’ ;)’. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Q?” James asked as he walked into the hotel room. He needed to find the Quartermaster, the man had looked severely shaken after the death of Franco Bertini, the henchman of the lead member of the drug smuggling ring they were trying to infiltrate. Q hadn’t even done anything, just kicked the weapon away from Franco’s hands as Bond had smashed the man’s head against the sink, red blood marring the perfect white surface. James had seen the shock set into Q’s eyes, the diluted pupil and paled skin. James wasn’t immune to the feeling of guilt that overhung him every time he took another’s life. However, he knew how to deal with it, to cope with the feeling of blood on your hands as the guilt complex built within all humans kicked in.

He remembered being trained on how to cope with that feeling, being explained that it was a natural instinct of humanity to reject any positive emotions associated with taking the life of another. After all, without that feeling you were labelled as a madman, a psychopath who reveled in the dying moments of others.

The tinkling of the shower drifting from the bathroom caught James’ attention. James was taken back to a moment when another had sat in the shower, failing to wipe the invisible blood of their hands. James’ set his mouth in firm line, releasing the torrid of emotions with every exhale of his breath.

That was then, this was now. What mattered now was Q, helping Q cope.

When James pushed the door open, he saw Q curled up under the shower, hands held out in front of him in disgust, watching the water droplets cascade down his skin as if they were wiping away the guilt James couldn’t see. He seemed so much smaller, with his white shirt soaked through to the point it acted like a second skin, tie undone around his neck. The normally bouncy hair was plastered to his face, framing his pale skin and distant expression he wore on his face.

James didn’t say anything, words wouldn’t help at that moment. They were empty, sounds which drifted over a person, like leaves on the wind. They didn’t have any effect on the person, even if they noticed them. However, the wind itself, the constant buffering force which hammered into them, then the person would notice. They would notice the physicality, the feeling of something across their skin, the cold embrace of nature as it flowed around them.

It was why James simply sat down next to Q, not saying a word, taking one of the Quartermaster’s thin nimble hands within his own calloused ones, his fingers drifting over the skin.

“Does it ever go away?” Q whispered, turning his head slightly, his eyes pleading for help in a way words would never be able to describe.

James smiled, bringing Q’s hand to his lips, lightly pressing a kiss to the top of his palm.

“Better?” he asked, looping one of his hands around Q. The water fell around them soaking through James’ shirt like it had done Q’s, as the sound of the tiny droplets rhythmically hammering into the shower pane provided an accompaniment to the slow beating of their hearts.

Q didn’t reply, simply placing his head on James’ shoulder, tucking his smaller body around the agent’s larger one.

It was the closeness which comforted Q, which comforted James. James pulled the Quartermaster in close, placing his head on top of Q’s. It was the comfort of another person being there, who understood the guilt, who understood the feeling of not being able to wash the blood of your hands when you had taken another’s life.

They sat like that, in the bottom of the shower, until the water had gone cold and the shower automatically turned off. A mutual understanding that one would always be there for the other, whatever happened.

Always.


	13. Snowstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q get stuck in a snowstorm. Snuggling occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful laurafoxin, who prompted me with ‘Something Q and James and Cuddle and snuggels and morning and yes in a snowstorm in some country on a mission.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q had not wanted to come on a mission with Bond.

Firstly, there was a reason he worked in the Q branch of MI6 and not in the field. His mind was his greatest asset, not his body, and he certainly didn’t have the strength to be able to keep up with the heavily built agent.

Secondly, he liked his bed. It was soft, warm and incredibly comfy.

Thirdly, Bond was infuriating.

Oh, it was alright to bicker with him over the earpiece and the banter they had when Bond returned for a mission. However, an entire three months with only the snarky agent for company? It would be torture.

At least, that was what Q told himself.

So when they were sitting in their base of operations (a log cabin in the Swiss Alps), and a sudden snowstorm had blocked them in for over three days, Q had not been the most pleased. The cold ate to his bones, the hunger burned in his chest, and his hands were shaking too violently to be able to type anything.

“Hurry up with that fire,” Q said quickly, trying not to breathe in the cold air, “you’re supposed to be a capable mission agent.”

Bond glared at Q from his hunched position over the fire he had made in the grate. Luckily they had enough wood to make it though the storm (or so Bond had said), although it did mean having to go for a few hours without heat to make the wood last.

As if on cue, a flame began to curl around the wood Bond was poking, uncovering the hot embers he had saved from the previous fire. It did not take long for the dry wood to catch, and Q shuffled over in his blanket to get some more warmth.

“You should get some rest,” Bond said to the cold Quartermaster.

“Too cold,” Q chattered in reply.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked.

Q gave a deadpan stare to the agent.

“What do you think?”

A few minutes later, the two of them were lying next to the fire, entangled in the other’s limbs. A small smile crept across Q’s face as he sapped the warmth from the larger agent, his head resting on top of Bond’s beating heart, its rhythm lulling him towards sleep.

Bond’s arm stretched over him, poking the fire with the prongs to try and eek some more heat out of the wood.

“Warm now Q?” James asked, the Quartermaster.

Q merely hugged the agent tighter in reply. 


	14. It's harder than it looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tries to build the Christmas tree to much avail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You are a secret agent, you should at least be able to put up a Christmas tree,”

James glared at his Quartermaster, as he held the prickly bits of the IKEA Christmas tree up in front of him.

“I think they make this more complex than needs be,” James murmured as he squinted at the small label on the end of the fake branch.

“Well neither of us have had much practice,” Q remarked, sitting down next to James and handing him a cup of coffee, “and we haven’t even made it to the lights yet.”

He nodded towards the box of tree lights that were still in their box on the sofa, propped against the half open box for the Christmas tree.

“This is impossible,” James sighed, as he accepted the mug of coffee from Q. The Quartermaster lent against James’ shoulder as he slowly sipped his tea.

“I hardly think MI6’s best operative will be beaten by a Christmas tree,” Q mumbled into James’ shoulder.

“This is more difficult than you think,” James said, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s forehead.

“Eve isn’t going to be impressed,” Q replied, twisting his neck to look up at the agent, a small smile on his face.

x-x-x

“How hard was that?” Eve asked, as she plopped herself on the sofa next to James and Q.

“You are far more capable than myself or James,” Q said, leaning around James’ large frame.

“Complements will not remove James’ inability to construct an IKEA Christmas tree,” Eve commented.

“Apart from shooting,” James commented.

“You’re never going to let that go are you?” Eve asked.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Q said, “he’s just being temperamental.”

“Well I’m glad you keep your agent on a leash,” Eve remarked.

“What?” James said.

Eve raised her eyebrow.

“Bedroom antics are not to be discussed in public,” Q said.

“Bah,” Eve said, knocking back the rest of her whiskey, placing the tumblr on the side table, “as if the pair of you would be that prudent.”


	15. Shaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q asks why Bond has a shaving knife that can double up as a weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with ‘00Q Shaving’.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“James,” Q asked, stepping out of the bathroom and giving a confused look at the agent, “why do you have this?”

He held out the shaving blade.

“To shave with,” James replied, “I thought your clever mind would have worked that out by now Q,”

“I know that,” Q rolled his eyes, “I am merely asking why  _you_  have one. I mean, Sweeny Todd has a shaving blade that doubles up as a weapon?”

“You just answered that question yourself,” James replied.

“How many people will attack you whilst  _shaving?”_ Q asked.

“You’ll be surprised,” James replied dryly, “the bathroom is an idea place to attack someone - when they’re off their guard and perfect cover-”

“Yes okay,” Q said, interrupting the agent, “You don’t need to over analyse every room you go into.”

“It’s second nature,” James replied.

Q paused for a moment, his intelligent eyes studying James’ hard worn façade. He was a trained killer supposedly, a blunt instrument who executed orders. A killing machine who had targets and objectives.

Q smiled slightly. People assumed so much about the infamous James Bond, even Q himself had been guilty of assuming too much when he had first met him.

Now? Now Q knew the man who hid underneath the calloused skin and scars, who was just as human as any other.

“Well sadly,” Q said, looking at the blade with interest, “I haven’t been taught in the art of using a shaver that also doubles up as a weapon,”

James smiled, knowing where Q was going with his suggestion.

“I’ll teach you,” he replied.


	16. I'm always here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q needs some comforting from Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You alright Q?” James asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. Q sat on the edge of the bed, picture frame in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he tried to control his breathing.

His brother had died a week ago, suicide they called it. It had caught James off guard, he knew that Q had two brothers, but he didn’t talk about his family much. Their past was not a focus point for them, there was too much pain for both of them back then. James knew, one day, he would tell Q just what happened at his house all those years ago, just as Q would one day tell him more about his family, apart from their names.

Q didn’t reply, gripping the picture tightly. James walked into the room quietly, his training allowing to slip into the room almost silently, sitting down next to Q and putting his arm around the Quartermaster.

“Sherlock was up to something,” Q said, sniffing. He had been crying, James could tell that much, but the agent didn’t bring it up. Q didn’t ask when James would wake up at times from the nightmares of fire and burning, so James didn’t invade the Quartermaster’s privacy.

“It would never be that simple,” Q said, leaning into James and shutting his eyes, “I swear it would never be that simple with him.”

“Whatever happens,” James whispered, pulling the Quartermaster closer, “I’m here,”

“Like I would ever let you leave,” Q joked in reply.


	17. Just one of the voices inside your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond get’s drugged and it’s up to Q to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with ‘Bond being heavily drugged and Q can only assist him from MI6 which is kind of difficult because he is only one of the other voices in 007’s head’.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“007,”

Bond turned, eyes flying wildy. The room was spinning, spinning far too fast to keep up with. He lurched sideways, the drink falling out of his hand and smashing to the floor. The sound reverberated around his skull like a ping pong ball, as Bond tried to work out where the sound was coming from.

“007, please stay calm,”

Where was that sound coming from? Bond turned on the spot, his feet catching each other and sent him to the floor. He tried to catch himself, but his arms were weak and feeble, muscles submitting to the strength of the intoxicant’s power. Bond knew he had been drugged, he needed to get to the medicine cabinet.

_“You’re not doing very well are you, James?”_

Bond looked up, twisting his torso to see the blurry outline of Vesper standing over him, her image flickering like the picture on a bad tv signal. She was wearing the dress he had given her on the night they had gone to beat Le Chiffre at the casino. It clung to her frame well, accentuating her curves and shape, distracting Bond from her blood red lips and black hair that curled around her face like the snakes of Medusa’s hair.

 _“Someone betray you again?”_  she whispered, kneeling down at cupping Bond’s chin with her delicate long fingers, her red fingernails digging deeply into his skin.

“007, get the adrenaline from the cupboard,”

There it was, that voice again. Bond tried to focus, yet instead he couldn’t rip his face around from Vesper’s grasp.

 _“Don’t listen to him,”_  she whispered, the words rolling off her tongue like smoke off the embers of a dying fire, “he is not important,”

Bond winced as Vesper let go of his chin, her image flickered as she disappeared into the air around him. Bond tried to push himself from the floor.

“Get up, 007,”

Bond scrambled to push himself up from the floor, staggering to the side as he did so and into the kitchen counter. Glass shards still covered the floor, his shoes cracking into the fragments as he placed his weight on them.

“Whose there?” Bond asked, looking around him widly.

“007,”

That number, it held a meaning, a thought, it was more than the constituent letters, it made up a phrase.

Codeword.

“You have been drugged, 007, get the adrenalin from the cupboard now,”

His head felt hot, why did it feel hot? The lights were too bright, the naked bulb swinging backwards and forwards, the shadows dancing across his eyeline, confusing him. He couldn’t think straight, and his thoughts were sluggish and hard to grasp.

“Get to the cupboard, 007,”

 _“Yes, the cupboard,”_ another voice whispered next to Bond. He swivelled violently in shock, ready to fight the owner of the voice, yet he found nothing. It was a phantom sound.

 _“Are you really worth saving?”_ another voice asked, his self-doubt, his hatred.

“007, report, do you have the message?”

_“He doesn’t care,”_

_“He’s one of us,”_

_“Another voice inside your head,”_

_“Chanting,”_

_“Whispering,”_

“Quiet!” Bond slurred, “who are you?”

“I’m Q, your Quartermaster, 007-”

“ _We’re you,”_

_“Your voices,”_

_“Yourself,”_

_“Inside your head,”_

_“Can’t get rid of us,”_

_“Can’t hurt us,”_

_“Can’t destroy us,”_

“Bond are you calling in?”

Bond pressed a shaking hand to his temple, trying to block the confusing, conflicting voices from distracting him further. They all held the air of distain, of distaste, or self-hatred about them, apart from one.

“James, the cupboard.”

Yes, James. That was his name.

_“You’re one of us, one of the many,”_

_“You’re not James, no more than you are an agent,”_

The world skewed violently again, as Bond stumbled towards the direction of the white blurry cupboard on the wall. The voices continued to taunt him, their collective volume blocking out all other sound. The light grew brighter as he scrambled to force his fingers to close around the handle, pulling the door violently towards himself.

“James, get the adrenalin,”

That voice, the voice called the Quartermaster, sounded worried now. It was almost deafened out by the cacophony of other voices that rattled inside Bond’s head, but Bond felt a connection to it, and instinct told him to trust it.

His hands were weak, the muscles hard to control as Bond collapsed back onto the floor again.

_“Failure,”_

_“Weak,”_

_“Useless,”_

“Come on, James, please,”

Bond rolled up his sleeve, slipping off the cover from the needle. He forced his breathing to be even, trying to get a moment of clarity in the stormy confused sea of his drugged mind.

“ _Give up,”_

_“Give up,”_

_“Give up,”_

“Now James! Do it!”

Bond plunged the needle into his arm,  before he slumped against the side of the counter.

“You’re fine, James,” the voice said, his Quartermaster’s voice said, “you’re fine, James.”

Those were the last words Bond heard before the darkness of unconsciousness claimed him.


	18. Betrayal (It's hard to trust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a lot to trust again, when betrayal has removed all hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for qbond’s Mission 00Q fic for the prompt ‘betrayal’. Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

{To Betray ( _verb) - to disappoint ones hopes and expectations of, to be disloyal to._ }

x-x-x

It was the small voice in the back of his head which whispered to him in the darkness, just before he succumbed to his dreams.

 _They betrayed you_ , it says.

In front of his eyes flash faces, faces covered in blood, faces struggling for breath, faces crying, faces screaming, faces begging for life.

Behind each face lies a person, an entity, a human being. He watches as the light drifts from their eyes, the realisation that death is upon them widen their pupils, their eyelids pulling back as if to reveal some deep secrets from their soul. Their bodies would shake and tremor, some longer than others, as the basic instinct of survival tried to kick in.

 _They betrayed you_ , the voice repeats.

Its words curl around his consciousness, snaking its way into his unguarded thoughts, eating into his very soul. He has no protection in this world, in the realm of the mind. No training or fitness will save him for the horrors which lurk behind his mind’s eye, the horrors which rise to greet him every night like the ghost of Christmas Past.

He is totally weak, totally vulnerable, totally alone.

The last face which drifts before him is one of a woman,  _her_ , whose voice is the one which whispers in the dark corners of his mind. Her black hair spreads around her as she floats backwards into the water looking like a fallen angel, floating mysteriously in the liquid which suffocated her. There was no struggle, she did not shake or tremor as death closed around her, instead she simply continued looking at him, never letting go of his gaze until her own had become dead, inanimate.

 _They will betray you_ , the voice whispers. It is supposed to be a comfort, a caress, but it is not. It reminds him of how large the world is and the fragility of life. He knows that one day, he too will walk the path where he had sent so many others. He just wishes, the same wish he wishes every evening before dreams claim his thoughts.

 _Don’t let me die alone_ , he asks.

x-x-x

{Trust ( _noun)_  -  _the firm reliability in the strength, truth, ability, or strength of someone of something_.}

x-x-x

The first impression he had of the scrawny looking man who sat next to him at the National Gallery, with messy hair and glasses perched on the edge of his nose, was one of indifference. They exchanged words laced with deeper meaning, metaphorical swords sparring between one another as each tried to form a picture of the other.

Time is an entity that he knows well. It eats at him, sapping away his health and vitality in exchange for burning lungs and muscles. He notices that each press up gradually becomes harder as he forces his body through its morning regime. He notices the lines around his eyes, the tinge of grey around his hair. He hears the rumours, the whispers which lurk behind his wake as he walks about MI6.

 _You can’t trust_ them, her voice whispers in his mind at night, her smiling face the last thing he sees before dreams claim him.

However, time was not just an entity which took things away. It was something which gave, something which offered  _opportunity_ for those who ran inside its constraints to grow and develop, to tie each other with inextricable bonds.

Maybe it was the glance of intelligence behind the glasses, the understanding nod when he didn’t want to talk about a mission which changed his view of the scrawny man behind the laptop. Maybe it was the banter which flowed between them like a river, its ferocity and temperament changing from rushing storm to trickling brook with each conversation that made him smile a little as he entered Q branch.

Maybe it was the other man’s cute smile, or the one time they had gotten drunk and fooled about.

He would never be able to pinpoint  _the_  moment he realised that there were ties to this scrawny man which intelligence behind his eyes, ties which  _he_ had created, and the other had knotted firmly in place.

Not cut away, like others had done to him before.

The voice,  _her_  voice still haunted his dreams, still warned him about what people were capable of. Sometimes the doubt crept forward during the day, whispering to him as he watched the other man’s hands fly over the keyboard, eyes darting backwards and forwards across the screen.

 _He could find out anything_ , her voice says,  _you would have no secrets left_.

Yet he disregards her voice, pushes the image of her floating hair and peaceful face into the back of his mind, and he smiles to the other man, the Quartermaster, as he is handed the new gadgets for his mission. 

It’s only a nod and a subtle smile, but there is an understanding between the two men. Whatever their differences, there is a connection between the two of them, a mutual respect borne from experience and knowledge of the other’s past which lets each have their own room, their own space.

One morning, he wakes to rain tapping against the window pane, with his Quartermaster tucked around him, limbs entwined with each other like creepers wrapping themselves around a rainforest tree. In those few precious moments, before the world wakes up to greet another day, he smiles in contentment.

Q whispers words into his ear, words which are tangled together in the mutterings of sleep, but James can make out the meaning quite clearly.

 _I love you_.

And for once, the voice,  _her_  voice, doesn’t remind him about how he has been betrayed in the past, how he has had his heart split apart by the actions of a floating agent, her hair splayed out around her in a black halo.

All he feels is the beating of Q’s heart against his own, and the knowledge that for once, he has found the one person he can rely on, he can care for, he can  _love_.

A person he can finally trust in.


	19. You're Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q watches a world wake up, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

There is an odd paradox about life.

I mean, there are always paradoxes in life, days you cry up to the heavens above and ask  _why, what did I do wrong_?, days when things just go your way, days when you stare into the distance and ask what you are doing with this precious gift of existence you have.

The paradox that confused me the most isn’t the one I find in code, in technology, or even other people.

It’s in me.

I try not to feel it, the feeling of powerlessness which grips me whenever I see something lying about the flat. It is stupid, I mean, it’s been a year but  _still_ there is a glimmer of hope which pulls at my heart, makes me shut my eyes and pray to whoever might be listening that he is still alive, somewhere in the world.

Rational thought doesn’t work in these situations. You can’t just logically think the feeling away, like you can when a line of code doesn’t quite work. There is no backspace button, no magic command which will wipe away the sensation of pain, the invisible knife that twists inside me when I look out of the wonder and think  _where are you_?

It’s only really when something is gone do you realise the value of what you miss. When it is gone, when you can’t touch it or smell it, or feel the reality of it under your fingers, telling you it is there. I am merely left with memories, of flashes of images that are brought forth from the depths of my mind to twist the invisible knife a little deeper, a little further into my body.

I can’t let anyone know, it is standard procedure. I mean, you can  _see_  the others are affected; Eve has this fierce expression, where she frowns just slightly and purses her lips, that tells me she too isn’t okay. I can’t read M, not very well, but I’ve heard his temper is slightly shorter, and his words are clipped.

Rain tumbles down the glass pane outside, as I peer out of the window to look at the grey London morning. My glasses steam up slightly from the heat of my tea, the liquid is searing, it burns my tongue and throat as I swallow it. Why I do this, this morning vigil as London wakes from its deep slumber to greet another grey winter day, I don’t know.

It’s a habit, a routine, a coping mechanism.

 _Why aren’t you here, Bond?_ I ask to the grey morning rain,  _Why did you leave me, James_?

But there isn’t an answer, there never is.

There is a grave, a small black one in a cemetery not far from my house. It tells me that he isn’t coming back, not this time.

The sun rises, the noises of horns fill the air outside, the murmur of engines raising like the war cry of a stampeding cavalry charge. I take another sip of tea, blinking away the tear that forces its way from my eye.

The feeling of rage, of hatred, of anger boil inside me, threatening to take over. The images flash faster in front of my mind’s eye, until they blur into sounds and colours, disjointed, slipping through my fingers as I try to hold onto them.

Sometimes, I feel a ghost of a hand upon my shoulder, as if he’s standing there, a silent protector as I carry on through the murky labyrinth of code and secrets.

One day I’ll meet him again.

But not today.


	20. Ship It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MI6 ships 00Q with the aid of Origami Paper Boats and M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For animepotterfan who prompted me with ‘M16 ships 00Q. Bonus points if M is still alive. MEGA bonus points if she’s the mastermind’.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Eve,” M called out from her office.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Eve appeared at the door, head popping around the corner.

“How is our plan going?” M inquired.

“Perfectly, Ma’am,” Eve replied, a conspiring glint in her eye.

“Wonderful,” M said, turning back to her papers, “give me any more updates on the progress,”

“I will Ma’am,” Eve replied.

x-x-x

It was common knowledge that the infamous James Bond had a thing for the new Quartermaster. There were even a few in the office who had constructed little paper boats which they set around Q branch as a not-so-subtle hint to the pair of them.

However, Bond being Bond failed to notice the subtle hints. Q, on the other hand,  _had_ noticed the appearance of some new origami around his office (and even one in his case), and as none of his office would answer, he continued to pester Eve whenever she came down to give more files to him.

“What are these?” he asked, waving the small paper boat in front of Eve’s face as she handed over the papers.

“They’re origami boats, Q,” Eve replied, her face devoid of emotion. Apparently she was even a nastier poker player than Bond, mostly because she couldn’t be read and wasn’t afraid to use her feminine charm to put off the other players.

Sadly, as Q’s interests lay in other fields, he wasn’t affected by her attempts.

“What are they  _for,”_

“Decoration,”

“Ha,”

“You know what they’re for,”

“I do not, Eve,”

“Just take the un-subtle hint and get with him,”

Q glared at Eve over the top of the little paper boat’s sail.

“I will when the world ends,” Q remarked, “you know he isn’t interested.”

“I do?” Eve remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know him better than anyone,” Q said, “and he hasn’t said anything to you,”

“That’s because he’s Bond,” Eve replied, “he plays things close to his chest.”

“So close that you start imagining things that aren’t there?”

“Well it is there on your part, with all of your moony eyes, and dazed expressions,” Eve said.

“I do not have ‘moony eyes’,” Q hissed in reply, noting 007 walking through the entrance to Q branch, no doubt with a smooth excuse for why all of his equipment was returning from the field in more pieces than it was issued in.

“Moneypenny,” Bond said, nodding to Eve, “how come you’re down here?”

“It’s hardly your territory either, Bond,” Eve remarked, taking the paper boat from Q’s startled hand and making a show of admiring it, “I’ll think I’ll use this one as a paperweight upstairs, make things more interesting.

She manoeuvred her way from between the agent and his Quartermaster (the UST between them was almost unbearable). Turning behind Bond’ back, she caught Q’s eye and mouthed,  _NOW_ , before sliding out of the door again.

When she when upstairs to report to M on what they had termed ‘Operation Sail the Goddam Ship’, the head of MI6 seemed most amused by the little paper ship that Moneypenny gave her.

“Do you think he’ll crack?” Eve asked her boss.

“Who, Bond?” M replied, as Eve nodded in agreement, “Of course he will. He’s a human being not just a weapon. I’m sure our delightful Quartermaster will be making an impression soon.”

x-x-x

Two months later, when the pair of them finally got together (there was much celebration in the office, and even M had a glass of champagne or two to celebrate), Moneypenny crafted a small boat out of her office stationary, inscribing the word  _HMS 00Q_ onto the side of it, and left it on Q’s desk.

The ship, finally, had set sail.


	21. Don't blame yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q blames himself for putting Bond’s life in danger. Bond comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

His knuckles were white from where they were clamped around his mug.

_Idiot._

Q knew he couldn’t change the past, that was the logical way to think about things. Yet the idea that he had compromised the MI6 security because of a  _stupid_  blunder which he should have forseen.

Worse, it put James in danger, and that sickened Q even more.

The curser continued to flash on the screen, the empty work document taunting him. He had to finish this report, and it was stupid really to get so worked up over the silly thing.

_Idiot._

Q swirled the long-cold tea around in his mug, still gripping it tightly. His hand was cramped, having held the position for so long, yet Q did not let go. The dull ache was a reminder of his stupidity, the pain took away the thoughts of guilt which sat in his stomach, twisting and turning his insides like a knife.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,”

Q looked around, startled, as Bond weaved his way into Q’s cluttered office, his large frame making the small office seem even smaller.

“That doesn’t help,” Q replied shortly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“You know what I mean,” Bond replied, taking the mug out of Q’s grasp and placing it on the desk, “stop beating yourself up over it.”

“You could have died,” Q protested as Bond wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

“But I didn’t,”

“You  _could_  have,”

“And I’m still here, Q,” Bond whispered in reply, “now cheer up you silly Geek,”

“Bond-” Q started, before falling into a fit of laughter as Bond ticked him.

“Stop it!” Q replied, as he wriggled in Bond’s grasp, arms flailing wildly.

“Never,” Bond replied with a wicked grin.

Both of them called off early from work that day.


	22. Meeting the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Q’s parents, who happen to be Eames and Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You must be James,”

Bond managed to keep his face straight as he shook hands with one of Q’s fathers. From the accent, he guessed that it was Eames. He had an easy demeanour, although Bond did not the square shoulders and lurking threat behind the eyes. A man who would go to all lengths to get what he wanted.

The issue of Q’s parents had always been a sticky topic of conversation between the pair of them. Q hadn’t wanted to talk about his parents in case he reminded Bond about his parent’s face. Bond hadn’t brought the subject up as apparently his parents were ‘in a business MI6 would not approve of’.

But whether MI6 approved of Q’s parent’s occupation or not, they had been called in when a security breach had been caused by the use of dream technology on one of the field support staff, the experts had to be called in.

“Lovely to meet you,” Bond replied warmly, shaking Eames’ hand.

“Q,” Eames said, releasing Bond’s hand and warmly embracing his son in a hug. Bond’s mouth twitched into a smile as he saw how grateful Q was for his father’s to be here. It had been one of Q branch who had been taken, and was currently being debriefed.

“James,” another voice said, distracting Bond from watching his partner. A tall man, with short dark hair and the same hints of cheekbone that Q wore, stood next to Bond. Dark, analysing eyes flickered over Bond, analysing his stature. It was clear that this man was dangerous, and not just from his stance which spoke of some sort of combat training. There was a smart mind as well, both of Q’s parents must have been smart to be able to be the top in the dream tech business.

“Lovely to meet you, Arthur” Bond replied, trying to give a relaxed smile.  He would take an enemy squad with fortified positions and only a single handgun to protect himself rather than making a fool of himself in front of Q’s parents.

_Get a grip of yourself, Bond._

“What’s the intel?” Arthur asked Q, as Q pushed his glasses back up his nose, fingers flying over his keyboard.

“We don’t know who they are,” Q said, “or what tech they’re using other than it’s dream tech.”

He pulled the picture of the man they were looking for up onto the big screen behind him, the picture pixelated beyond almost all recognition. Arthur peered at the picture, or more precisely the suitcase that the man had opened on the floor.

“It’s a different version to the one we used to use,” Arthur said, pointing to the screen, “but he’s made some modifications himself.”

“Himself?” Bond asked.

“It’s not advised,” Eames answered, “even for those in the business. Only a few men in the business have enough knowledge to improve the kit themselves.”

Eames nodded towards Arthur who was now standing next to Q, muttering quietly to his son and pointing at the screen.  Data screen were pulled up, Q’s eyes flashing over the information so fast it made Bond smile proudly.

“We have a small problem,” Q announced, turning to his other father, his gaze lifting up to Bond’s taller form, “this guy knows about the Inceptor project.”

“The what project?” Bond asked.

“A project that you’re not supposed to know about,” another interrupted before Q could answer, as M entered the office, Tanner closely following behind him. Q branch had been emptied for the meeting with Q’s parents, but M being M obviously knew about it.

Q glanced at M over the top of his glasses.

“As the one who set up the security surrounding it,” Q remarked, “it would be logical for me to know the data which I was protecting.”

“You might as well know Bond,” M commented, “as you would be detailed on it soon enough.”

He nodded to Tanner to take up the tale.

“The Inceptor project is tracing a number of criminals who are trying to improvise with this dream technology to get information on rival gangs,” Tanner explained.

“And this is allowed?” Bond questioned.

“They don’t know how to work this technology properly,” M replied, “they’re more likely to do damage to themselves than anyone else,”

“Until someone improved it,” Q remarked, nodding towards the man on the screen, “then they can present a larger problem.”

“But you have something the others don’t have,” Eames remarked. Arthur looked at his husband with a knowing sigh.

“Which is what?” M asked.

“Us,” Eames remarked brightly, looping his arm through his husband’s.

Bond smiled. He might just get on with Q’s parents after all.


	23. It's a thin line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q get’s kidnapped by Moriarty and now doesn’t know what’s good or evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

It started when Q wasn’t Q. He had held another name, the first of many, a name associated with childhood, with innocence, with happiness and wonder.

Edmund, that had been his name then.  _‘Wealthy protector’,_ was the meaning, although he didn’t know how he would be a protector of anyone. It had always been his older brothers protecting him. He played with his puzzles and learnt from his brothers the way to interact with the outside world. He was clever they said, clever than most other people, and that intelligence had to be hidden under layers of normality so no one could see it.

Abuse it.

He had been ten years old when his older brother had taken him out into the woods. An  _adventure_  he said, they would be pirates, the two of them, looking for lost treasure and gold under the orange and red leaves that covered the ground. His brother was ten years his senior, and had just come back from University (although Edmund wasn’t sure if his brother actually  _enjoyed_  university, as he always seemed to scorn most of those he mentioned from the establishment). Yet however distant Edmund’s brother was to the outside world, he always found time for his younger brother. Their eldest sibling, Mycroft, was of being busy and ‘ _important work’_ as he called it, a comment which earned him much scorn from Sherlock.

They had been playing hide and seek in the woods when Edmund had got lost. He didn’t know how, but suddenly he was standing in a huge ravine, with dark earth walls towering up either side of him, closing him in, trapping him.

He had tried to call, tried to call for Sherlock, or Mycroft, or Mummy, but none of them came. The forest had grown darker, the night sapping out the colours of the leaves to leave them as only dim shadows on the dark earth floor. The trees swayed in the wind, their eerie branches like the long talons of some supernatural creature, watching Edmund as he stood paralysed in fear.

Then a man, a little younger than Sherlock, had scrambled down the bank and approached the terrified and crying Edmund.

Jim he said his name was, as he told him how he had been looking for Edmund everywhere. He told the small boy about the accident, the fire at the house. Edmund had tried to protest, but Moriarty said it was too dangerous to go back there, as the flames had already consumed the house and all of the occupants.

Edmund had cried, truly cried from both fear and shock at what this strange man was telling him. However, Jim had been nice and kind and said that he was to look after Edmund now, take care of him.

It was in that moment, when Edmund reached up and took Jim’s outstretched hand, that he had become known as  _Amon_.

x-x-x

Five years.

To Amon, as he was then called, he didn’t notice the time. There was only the work, the challenge of the puzzles that were put in front of him.

It was a challenge, Jim said, a challenge that would suit him. Nothing else would matter as no one else would care about it. They wouldn’t understand, Jim said, how Amon’s mind needed to be challenged, to be stretched.

Jim looked after him, Jim was the one who provided him shelter and gave him puzzles to crack. He was the one who taught him the code, the language he could solve the puzzles with.

He was like an older brother to Amon.

Yet into this quiet life, this simple cycle of puzzle after puzzle, the door to Amon’s room once opened suddenly, and a tall figure stepped in. The figure reminded him of a distant memory, of a man who took a young boy into the forest, who lost him.

Who died.

When Amon had tried to struggle, when he had refused to come with the figure, with the man who called himself after his dead brother, a sharp blow to the had had swallowed him into blackness.

x-x-x

Ten years.

His name was Q now, a letter as opposed to a name. He smiled and he greeting his co-workers as he was supposed to, he gave Bond the gadgets he needed with the accompanying banter which was required.

Yet he didn’t understand,  _couldn’t_  understand, what it was all for.

He understood the abstract, of course he did. People liked being good, helping defeat the bad guys and save the world.

Yet the line between good and evil? That was something much more intangible, a thought that people tried to aspire to yet could never achieve.

He killed people, Q was aware of that. Not directly, he didn’t point the gun and pull the trigger but he gave the information that allowed others to do so. He worked in a world where governments were just as corrupt as any man, where live were dealt like a form of currency, where the ‘greater good’ was lauded as a reason for death and destruction.

Was he a good man? No, Q didn’t think he was one of those ‘good men’, men like Bond who held onto their ideals and old beliefs as a method of comforting the nightmares in the evening.

That was why he allowed Silva into MI6’s network. Not because he was a bad human being,  _evil_  as some would label him, but because it made the puzzle more interesting.

And Q liked puzzles.

x-x-x

“I don’t understand,” Q said, looking up at Bond.

Mycroft sighed in the doorway, outside which Sherlock was pacing back and forth. John had tried to comfort his flatmate, to no avail. Sherlock blamed himself for what happened to his brother, and the stubborn detective would not listen to anything anyone had to say.

Even Q.

“Silva is the bad guy,” Bond explained, never taking his eyes of Q’s face, “you aren’t,”

“Why?” Q questioned, “what’s the difference between us and them?”

“Would you kill a nation to get revenge?” Bond asked.  
“What?”

“Would you?”

“No,” Q said, shaking his head, “but I have killed.”

“So have I,” Bond said, glancing up as Sherlock shouldered past his brother, hovering in the corner of the room like a black hawk, long trench coat buttoned up to his chin.

“Evil is not just caused by acts, little brother,” Sherlock said, “but by the colour of your heart,”

“How do I know if I’m not the bad guy?” Q asked, an aghast look crossing his face, looking desperately towards James. The agent took the quartermaster’s hands in his own, staring into the other’s eyes with his piecing blue gaze.

“Because I love you,” James said, “that’s why.”


	24. Bloody Secret Agents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond still manages to intrigue the Quartermaster, however irritating and disrespectful he is to his gadgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

The florescent lights hummed above Q as he worked, slowly scrawling through lines of code, trying to find the section which wasn’t working. It didn’t need to be done now, not this second, but he needed something to keep himself busy.

Bond was returning today.

It had been an awful mission, involving Bond being sent to the far off corners of the world and hunting drug traffickers through the jungles. The mission requirements had meant that Q had created a whole new raft of communication devices which would allow Bond to be contacted by MI6 even if he was battling his way through the creepers which hung down from the rainforest trees. Bond had been relatively blasé about the whole mission, joking to Q that it was like a very intense tropical holiday.

Q had merely glared at him.

The door to Q branch opened, and in stepped a worn looking 007. Even though his suit was newly pressed, shirt collar done up and cuffs pulled out of the ends of his jacket, Q could still notice the lines of exhaustion that lined James’ face.

“Bond,” Q said, “I assume that you have brought back my gadgets in once piece.”

Bond strode towards the table, his hand dipping into his pocket as he withdrew a single piece of bent mental.

“And this is the remainder of?” Q asked, giving the agent a look which said,  _is it possible for you to bring some of your toys back without breaking them?_

“The radio,” Bond said shortly. That was what Q admired in the agent, his succinct ability to cut to the chase of the issue. It was intriguing to Q, how a person who seemed to be made of all blunt edges and harsh lines could ever possibly be the same person who was able to manipulate those around him to succeed in a mission and get his own way.

 _Not now,_  Q thought to himself,  _this is not the right time to be thinking that_.

“Have you managed to bring anything back from this mission in one piece?”

“Do you simply care about your gadgets?” Bond replied, a small line appearing on his forehead as he creased his eyebrows together. He was putting on his  _I can find everything about you_ face on, a face which Q really hated.

Especially because Q didn’t really want Bond to realise how infatuated his Quartermaster was with him.

That would not be a good thing if Bond found out about that.

At all.

“Yes,” Q replied, keeping a straight face, adjusting his glasses to prevent his hands from giving away any more tells to the agency’s best poker player.

“Enough to wait for me to bring them back?” Bond pushed.

“007,” Q replied seriously, “I would hardly consider waiting around for  _you_  to return as an honour.”

“Really?”

“Indeed,” Q continued, “now if you don’t turn up tomorrow for medical I will hack into your house and set all your alarms to play  _Spice Girls_  non-stop.”

“You know where I live?” Bond asked.

Q gave him a ‘ _bitch please_ ’ look.

“In that case then,” Bond said, leaning forward towards Q just slightly, “you would be welcome around any time.”

Then, the agent quickly removed himself from Q’s personal space, striding out of the office as confidently as he had arrived. Q waited until the door has closed behind Bond with a firm  _click._

 _“_ Bloody secret agents,” Q muttered under his breath as he picked up the one piece of the transmitter that had survived Bond’s mission.

Bond was going to be the end of him for sure.


	25. It was a judgement call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond returns to Q branch without his gun. Q is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Where is your gun, 007?”

“Bottom of the Congo,”

“And why is it there and not in my hand?”

“Because I dropped it,”

“You lost it didn’t you?”

“I don’t  _lose_ anything,”

“That statement is debatable,”

“You’re not still annoyed at the other night are you?”

“That ‘other night’, 007, was three months ago,”

“Which is why I was asking how you could still be annoyed, Q,”

“I’m annoyed at you losing my gun,”

“It was my weapon,”

“Personalised for you, by myself,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Can you not lose anything?”

“If you worked in the field, Q, I’m sure you would understand,”

“I would?”

“You have to make judgement calls,”

“Like losing your gun, 007?”

“Judgement call, Q, it’s called a judgement call,”

“I can make a judgement call,”

“Really, Q?”

“But it’ll have to be left until later, much later.”

Bond smiled at Q.

This was going to be  _fun_.


	26. Not his date (but really is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q go to Angelo’s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“This is awkward,”

“Thank you for stating the obvious James,” Q remarked looking at the small, flickering flame in the centre of the table. Sherlock had assured him that Angelo’s would be a quiet place to have a meal (without MI6 knowing), and stupidly Q had taken his brother’s advice.

Awkward romantic dates had not been on the table.

“I said I wasn’t your date,” Q sighed, as Angelo came back with their meals, grinning like a loon. James, however, was being infuriating which meant he was  _playing along_ with the gambit.

“I’m not his date,” Q grumbled.

“What’s so wrong about being my date?” James asked, cocking his head to one side and giving Q a sly smile. Angelo had retreated away from the table, but still was close enough to hear the conversation.

There was no-one else in the restaurant after all.

“I’m married to my work,” Q said.  _Poor excuse,_ his mind supplied,  _you know what you are feeling_.

Yes, Q knew very well what he was feeling, the pit of his stomach churning whenever James placed his ice blue cold gaze onto his own. The shiver whenever James accidently slipped his fingers against his wrist when Q gave him his new equipment.

“I am your work,” James growled back with an almost predatory smile.

Q clenched his fists, trying not to give in. He felt the air pressing down on him, like it was forcing him to _admit_ his feelings.

“You’re still not my date,” Q supplied back.

“That can be arranged,” James replied.


	27. Retirement Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q fake their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q sat next to James on the bench, slipping his arm through the other’s. There was a dusting of grey in his hair, barely noticeable against his blonde hair. Q’s grey hair, however, was far more noticeable. Although James found it endearing, saying that it finally made him look less like a child.

“Morning Gary, Joseph,” a woman said as she walked along the street. James and Q smiled and waved.

This was their third year in this house, this identity they had kept for nearly five years. Q liked it, it was in a little hamlet in the North of England. It was quiet here, a peaceful place with flowers and trees.

Most importantly it had miles and miles of undulating land, with bridle paths that snaked their way around the fields like snakes. James and he would go walking most days, if the weather and their strength permitted. It prevented James from getting restless, and allowed them to check out their safehouse five miles south of their house.

Faking their deaths hadn’t been hard, not really. Q had managed to lay a breadcrumb trail leading over most of the Eastern half of the world, from China to Singapore and Indonesia. Placing their names on the rosta of a ferry disaster had been a little hard, using one of their known MI6 identities to ensure that MI6 would recognise it. James had managed to procure a number of new identities for them from his ‘outside’ operatives.

Q suspected M knew what they had done. Moneypenny would almost be certain. Neither would follow it up, they understood why James and Q had done what they had done. Agents shouldn’t be able to be in a relationship together, Agents and Quatermaster certainly shouldn’t be together.

They would be hunted, MI6 had a lot of enemies. it was part of the pay off, part of the silent agreement made when both of them joined.

“You happy?” James asked, smiling at Q. This was their retirement plan, hopping from place to place, possibly country to country every few years of so. Fake bank accounts, fake names, fake addresses, it would be as part of their lives as it had ever been.

Q smiled back.

“Never been better,” he replied.


	28. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were people who were like animals. Q was one of those people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

There were some people in the universe, who were different.

Science was still trying to provide answers. It was one of the mysteries of the universe, like trying to unite the theories of relativity and quantum physics. Something would answer it, but the answer was elusive.

There were people who were like animals.

The mutations depended on the person, on genetics and other factors. One family could all have the mutation, others none, some people having it appear every one or two generations.

It was just a given fact, like how people had different eye colours.

However, that didn’t mean those who suffered from the affliction were perfectly comfortable with it.

Q’s ears twitched as he brushed his hair in the morning. He was lucky, his mutation wasn’t that bad. Only his ears had been visibly affected, drawing up into two points that were covered in dark hair. There had been other changes as well, his eyesight was better than most normal humans, along with his sense of smell, but those nobody noticed.

His tail, on the other hand, was one he couldn’t hide so easily.

He looked in the mirror, watching his tail flick backwards and forwards lazily behind him. At home, he didn’t have to hide who he was, and it provided him with some excellent balance.

However, during the day, he had to be a human, he had to hide who he truly was.

That was, of course, until James Bond.

x-x-x

He thought James would be terrified, for some reason.

Q didn’t really understand  _why_  he had always thought this, but it had always lurked there. It was the reason he would pull away whenever James touched his face or back. He tried to hide the way his nose flared when he inhaled James’ scent (a mix of strength, power, and tenderness blended into one), or the way he noticed things that other’s couldn’t see about the way James stood when he came back from a mission.

So when he was sitting on James’ couch, and flinched away from James’ touch, the agent breached the silent question that sat between them.

“You’ve got a mutation haven’t you?”

The words made Q flinch, the sharp intake of breath told James the truth.

“Why do you hide it?” James asked quietly. It was considered rude to press someone about their mutation, but Q could tell James meant no malice with his words.

“Yes,” Q replied, quietly, looking down at the sofa.

James touched Q’s cheek gently, drawing the other man’s gaze back up to his own. His fingers trailed towards his eyes, then backwards towards his ears. Q flinched as James’ fingers brushed the tops of his furry ears.

“Why do you hide who you are?” James asked quietly.

Q looked up, uncertain, at James. The agent smiled at him, a gentle smile which told Q all he needed to know.

James didn’t care.

A weight lifted off Q’s shoulders as James leaned forward and kissed him.

He was accepted.

He was loved.


	29. Clean cut lines and ragged edges (the tea’s gone cold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond talk the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Morning,”

Arms wrapped around James’ waist, as Q’s head rested on his shoulder. Q was wearing his shirt, which was the reason James had been forced to go topless.

Q released James from his embrace, shuffling towards the kettle and switched it on, using practised movements to get his two cups out of the cupboard and placed a tea bag in each cup. James grimaced slightly and Q gave him a long suffering sigh.

“It’s better for you,” Q said, pecking the corner of James’ mouth, “put the toast on will you,”

James rolled his eyes at Q, doing as requested. It was a cold morning, the windows of Q’s small flat were misted up, the condensation trickling down the windows. The heating was on, although it wasn’t really that effective, the floor under his feet was still bitter cold. It was a sparse flat, with the typical stamp that shouted to anyone who would notice that the flat was not  _lived_ in, not like a normal person. Photograph showed pictures of countryside like they had been taken on holiday. A holiday which Q had never been on, and knowing Q the picture had been hacked off the couple’s computer from across the way, not wanting to choose a picture which could be easily found on google. It was functional, but it wasn’t excessive. James preferred Q’s flat to his own, he preferred the quirkiness over the polished worktops that had never been touched, the modern lines and clean corners.

“What do you want to do today?” Q asked, passing James a cup of tea. He took a sip of it carefully. It was Earl Grey, James guessed, the hint of bitterness which cut across the back of his tongue. Unlike Q, his caffeine was a requirement to stay alive. He had no doubt the health guys at MI6 had a few words to say about his ‘substance abuse’ but James lived by the personal rule that if you could buy it in a supermarket, it didn’t count.

At least that was how he explained the alcohol bills to M when he came back from missions.

“We could take a walk around London,” Q said over the rim of his cup, “as you have always promised we would once you were back for more than a week. I think three months of injury time counts.”

“I’m supposed to be rested,” James commented gruffly.

“I hardly consider last night as ‘resting’,” Q smirked. James had no idea how he had ever considered Q a ‘boy’, the mischievous look which passed across Q’s face spoke nothing of the innocence his fashion sense portrayed. The Quartermaster had many layers to him, it was part of the reason James found him fascinating. What looked like clean cut lines had tiny ragged edges if you knew where to look, the bushy hair concealed a small scar that Q said he had got from falling out of a tree aged eight and cracking his head on the ground. James knew about the way he hunched his shoulders slightly when he was concentrating, the small frown line appearing across his forehead when he was concerned about James.

 In some ways, the fact James knew about the secret marks and gestures Q had made him all the more special to him. Where others would see a young boy, like he had once, James now saw the intelligent mind and dark humour which spoke of someone whose soul reached infinite depths.

“Or bed?” James considered, putting his tea on the side, and taking Q’s out of his own, before swiping the Quartermaster’s feet from under him.

“James,” Q considered, carefully taking off his glasses and giving James a stern stare, “I am not a fair maiden to be carried everywhere.”

“Really?” James chuckled, “I thought the giveaway was your curly hair,”

Their tea sat on the side until it went cold.


	30. Prove It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q finds 00Q fic and shows Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“What is this?”

Q just gestured to the screen.

“Did you write this?” Bond asked, peering at the screen, reading the text.

Well that position wasn’t physically possible.

“They think we’re together,” Q said.

“Who?” Bond asked.

Q gestured out of his office to the main floor of Q branch. The assistants suddenly became deeply interested in their different tasks or disappeared to get coffee.

“Is that a problem?” Bond asked.

“Of course not,” Q said, smiling, “I was just wondering if  _you_ had got them to do it.”

“Me?”

“It would be you way of chatting me up, James,” Q said.

“I am much more refined,” James conceded.

“Prove it,”

“Dinner on Friday, seven o’clock,”

“I’m there,”


	31. Nightshade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q finds a cat on the side of the pavement which has a remarkable resemblance to Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Hello,”

Q felt stupid talking to the cat which was lying on the side of the pavement, mewing quietly. It seemed malnourished, with a pronounced limp that prevented it from running away as Q approached it.

“It’s alright,” Q said, reaching out gently to stroke the cat on its head, “you’re a nice fella aren’t you?”

The cat purred at Q, rubbing its head into Q’s palm. Q stood up, checking his watch which told him he would have to get back soon as he had an early morning at MI6 trying to hunt down wherever the hell Bond had got to.

The cat mewed at him.

“I can’t take you,” Q said to the cat, glancing around to make sure no-one was witnessing his slow decent into madness by talking to a  _cat_  of all things. James had jibed that Q would be an excellent cat owner, and according to James owning a cat would make him far less irritable when James was away.

“Well you don’t have a collar,” Q said, bending down to pick up the cat carefully. It hissed slightly as Q tried to fold its body into his arms, before snuggling down in the crook of Q’s elbow, purring contentedly.

 _Well damn,_ Q though to himself, scratching the cat on the top of its head.

Q decided to call the cat Nightshade.

x-x-x

Nightshade (Night for short) was a remarkably tame cat.

He sat on the end of the kitchen counter whilst Q tried to find some milk for him to drink, tail flicking back and forth. His large eyes watched Q with an unnerving stare, which was made even the more surreal by the fact Night’s eyes were a startling blue colour.

“There you go,” Q said, placing a saucer of milk in front of the cat. Night looked up at Q, flicking his tail as he licked the Quartermaster’s hand in thanks.

“You drink up little fella,” Q chuckled, stroking the cat as it drank the milk hungrily. Night’s leg still pained him, Q could see the way the cat wasn’t placing all of his weight on it, but there was nothing Q could until the morning when the vets would be open.

“Finished?” Q asked, as Night lapped up the last morsel of milk. Gently picking the animal up, Q placed Night on the floor whilst being careful not to hurt the animal’s leg. Night purred at Q and rubbed against his leg, looking up at him expectantly.

“You’re almost as demanding as James,” Q remarked to the cat, “and don’t tell him I said that,”

 _Not that a cat could,_ Q thought. The feeling of worry clenched at his stomach, he would try and get some sleep this evening but until James was found it was unlikely he would sleep properly.

x-x-x

It was when Q was on the cusp of sleep that he felt a small warm body curl up next to him. How Night had managed to leap onto the bed with his injured leg Q had no idea.

Q smiled. Night purred affectionately.

x-x-x

When Q woke the next morning, he was rather surprised to find that James was sleeping next to him.

Surprised would probably be an understatement for the shock that Q received. He jumped a full foot in the air, as a stream of swearwords came of his mouth.

“How did you get in here?” Q said, the words slurring into one another in his shock.

“You let me in,” James said, a cheeky grin appearing on his face. He tried to shift himself to a sitting position, wincing as he did so. Q looked down the Agent’s bruised and battered body and noticed the severe bruising on James’ leg.

“Bloody hell,” Q stuttered, staring at James.

“Am I really ‘demanding’?” James asked with a smile.

“Yes,” Q said, just about managing to force the word out of his mouth, “you have some explaining to do James.”

“It certainly looks like it.”


	32. Not that anyone’s complaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond kisses Q for a distraction. It doesn’t really work. (not that anyone’s complaining)

“They’re going to get seen,”

Bond glanced at Q, whose face was creased in worry. The Quartermaster was not trained for field exercises, but a problem in the field meant he had to be pulled away from his computer for a moment to help. Two other operatives were currently hunting the caverns below the bar, trying to find the hard drive which contained the information they needed.

The two guards were standing next to the door, shifting on their feet. They were already disturbed by the attack earlier in the day, where Bond had made a small distraction by blowing up a warehouse.

Q still wasn’t happy about that.

“We’re going to be seen,” Q whispered.

“Stay calm Q,” Bond whispered back, putting his arm around the other agent. The security guards continued to stare at the pair of them, one of them shifted his hand to his hip.

“They’re going to see us,” Q whispered out of the corner of his mouth, hands shifting nervously in his lap.

“Take a sip of your drink,” Bond suggested.

“I’m working,”

“You need it,”

“I don’t,” Q replied, quietly, shifting in his seat, “I am quite fine,”

The music in the bar was a gentle hum, quiet enough to not be intrusive but loud enough. The other occupants of the bar were sipping their drinks, not noticing the disturbed Quartermaster and the agent sitting in the booth in the corner of the room.

“Look at me,” Bond said to Q, staring at the other man intently.

“Why?” Q asked, looking at Bond all the same.

“You keep looking towards them,” Bond said.

“It’s not my fault,” Q replied, “My mind isn’t otherwise occupied apart from worrying about being _spotted_.”

Bond smiled.

“No, no, no,” Q said, looking at Bond mischievous smile, “I know that smile it means-”

The rest of Q’s sentence was lost when Bond snaked his hand around the back of Q’s neck and roughly pulled him into a kiss. Bond smiled as Q tried to grapple from shock, until he felt the other actually reciprocating.

It was Q who pulled away first, a mixture of emotions on his face.

“Well that is sure one distraction method,” he commented, as Bond glanced over towards the security guards.

“Oh dear,” Bond said, standing up slowly as he grabbed Q’s shoulder and pulled the man to his feet, shuffling around the table to get out.

“I said they would spot us,” Q muttered, as the two security guards began to make their way through the throng of people cluttered around small bar tables, trying to be inconspicuous. Some of the people begun to look around as the two guards moving through the crowd, as their muttering became quieter and quieter with every passing heartbeat.

“Run,” Bond whispered to Q, as he pushed the other man away from him, drawing his gun and shooting the lamp at the top of the bar.

Chaos broke out.


	33. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has nightmares, Q can only watch and take care of him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Water filled his lungs.

It burned him, he tried to fight, he could see the light above him. He clawed at the water, furiously trying to pull himself upwards. He had to reach the light, he had to get out from under the ice. The cold was clawing at his skin, the water pulling at his clothing, pulling in downwards.

He shut his eyes.

x-x-x

“James?” Q asked. James whimpered next to him, body visibly shaking as he fought off a nightmare. He had these, sometimes, although Q didn’t want to consider what James was dreaming about. The Agent never told him, for him it was a sign of weakness that he was just a fallible as any other man to the dark corners of his mind. James didn’t think that out of a sense of pride, Q knew that, it was more because James had to have that mentality. His job forced him to be more than a man - he had to make decisions which others couldn’t make. He had to face sights which others would balk at; he was always pushed to be harder and faster than his enemy in order to stay alive.

Q didn’t try and wake James, he had tried that once and the Agent had explained to him in very stern words  _not_  to do that to him. Q didn’t like it, but he respected James’ wishes. The Agent understood when Q didn’t like talking about his life before MI6, and so Q didn’t press him.

Instead, Q placing a calming hand on James’ forehead, pushing back his hair and running a thumb over James’ brow.

“Wake up, James, wake up.”

x-x-x

Desert.

He crawled in the sand, sun beating on his back. His shirt was in tatters on his arms, and his skin was red raw. His hands were burning as they dug into the red sand, the grains slipping between skin and nail making James scream in pain. It was like someone had dipped his hands in red hot lava.

There was a man, James noticed, with an ever changing face in front of him, his features flickering like someone was pressing the buttons to change the channel on a television. He wore a black suit, indiscriminate like the ones James himself wore, with a small dragon on the pin of his lapel. The white shirt had  blood splotches on it, splattered at such an angle that it looked to James like he had slit someone’s throat.

“Hello, Mr Bond,” the man said, his vocals changing with every word. One minute the voice was a bass, then a tenor, then an alto. The blood splotches grew, the blood dripping off the edge of his shirt and onto his polished black shoes.

“Who are you?” James asked, pushing himself from the sand on weak arms. He couldn’t run, he was too weak to fight back. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, the blood tasting like the sweet flesh of a peach. James spat on the sand, the red blood congealing the sand grains together.

“You cannot run from me,” the man said. James looked up, and now the man wore Vesper’s face, her skin baked and crackled. Her hair was smoking, making James cough as the smoke filled his lungs. She bent down next to James, wrapping her thin, wet arms around James’ neck.

“You’ll never escape,” she whispered, brushing her thumb comfortingly over his brow.

Then she broke his neck.

x-x-x

Q stayed calm when James woke up, bolting upright as he heaved air into his lungs. His muscles were tense, and his hands were clenched so tightly Q thought his knuckles would break through his skin.

“It’s okay, James,” Q said, sitting beside James as the other man tried to force his breathing to become regular.

“Q?” James asked, turning to look at Q, his eyes wide with panic. It killed Q to see James so vulnerable, a man who had to be so strong and brave crushed by the workings of his own mind.

“I’m here, James,” Q said, slowly wrapping his hands around James’ shoulders as the other man pressed his forehead into Q’s shoulders. Q could feel James’ breath tickle his skin as he forced oxygen into his lungs.

“I’m here, James,” Q whispered, holding James close, “I’m here.”


	34. Grains of sand running through your hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to find reasons why he loved James was like trying to pick out a grain of sand at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Trying to find reasons why he loved James was like trying to pick out a grain of sand at the beach. You can feel the soft touch of the sand under your skin, the simple beauty of nature, listen to the waves brushing against the shore, but you have to work out  _why_  all those little grains of rock and minerals make you feel like that.

His heart wouldn’t skip a beat when James walked in the room, that would be impossible. Yet there was a moment, a pause of breath where the room would stop and everything would gently come to a halt, where Q would look at James and realise just  _who_  he want to him. It was in that moment Q would notice the slight dilation of James’ eyes, the flicker of a smile spreading across his stern face, the relaxation of his normally stiff shoulders.

There were other moments where Q would only be able to hear James’ voice, lose himself in the rich texture of the words James spoke like a poet reciting his masterpiece. Even if that sound was accompanied by gunfire, by shouting, by Q shouting down the earpiece for 007 to get his sorry ass  _out of there right this instant._

His favourite moment with James, however, would be just after twilight. The two of them would be lying next to one another, and James would just whisper in his ear. It was different to when Q would hear him on the earpiece, here he could feel the tickle of James’ breath on the back of his neck, the feeling sending shivers right to his spine. He could shut his eyes and drink in James’ presence like a man dying of thirst would do when coming upon an oasis in the desert.

There was a part of Q’s soul that resonated at the same frequency as James’ words, at the same speed the breath traveled over his skin. It made a harmony, a larger sinusoidal wave, and however Q liked to live within his world of code and straight lines and edges, he loved that innate feeling within him.

Love.


	35. Clothing is vital (revenge at it’s finest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q steals Bond’s clothes as revenge for the four hours of radio silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Q,” Bond said seriously, as he exited the shower wrapped in only a towel, “where are my clothes?”

Q grinned, as he did up the buttons on Bond’s shirt. It was too big for him, the shoulder’s didn’t sit right and Q had to roll up the sleeves a few times as Bond had longer arms than he.

“This is payback for last night isn’t it?” James said, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

Q’s smile widened. James could see the mischief lurking  behind the other man’s eyes, they shone brighter in the same way they did whenever Q had managed to successfully perform a difficult hack.

“I said I would be back by four,” James said, stepping towards Q, trying to grab him. However, the quartermaster danced out of his reach. It had been a surprise to James how nimble Q actually was, apparently he was an amateur in martial arts.

It certainly made for an explosive combination when the two of them were alone.

“Four hours,” Q said, holding up four fingers to emphasise his point, “you went offline for on that mission, James,  _four.”_

“I didn’t want you to worry,” James said.

“Well that worked,” Q remarked dryly.

“I’ve said my apologies,” James said.

“I know,” Q replied, “but this my  _revenge._  No clothes. At all.”

“Don’t become an evil genius,” James said, “it suits you too well.”

Q smiled the smile he knew made James go weak at the knees.

Bastard.


	36. Good Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wants to tell the other 00s about their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'something where the other 00s try to find out who's Bond in love with/dating since he doesn't sleep around on missions anymore? And Bond would like to tell them, but is not sure if Q would like that?'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, written for fun not for profit.

“So what’s your guess?” 001 asked, sitting back in her chair as she drew on a cigarette deeply. Her black, cropped hair framed her delicate face, with bright eyes which shone darkly. She was known for her manipulation techniques, she could pull out information from even the hardest of targets.

“Sense of morality?” 005 suggested, sipping his tea. He was a thin man, who had the look more of a professor than an MI6 agent.

“Like any of us have one of those,” remarked 008, a short, plump woman with fierce red hair that hung in curls around her face. She was one of new 00’s, only in her mid-twenties, yet beginning to make her own reputation for herself. She was a linguist, her skills with languages surpassing even those in the analytical department.

“New partner?” 002 suggested.

“We would have noticed,” 001 said, waving her cigarette around, “and you saw how he was after her.”

001 didn’t need to speak  _her_ name, they all knew who  _she_ was. The 00s were a tight knit group of people, who all supported one another, keeping the other’s secrets from even M himself if need be.

“Not outside,” 004 suggested, a heavy set man with a broad Newcastle accent.

“Inside?” 008 prompted, taking one of the biscuits from the side table and eating it.

“But who?” 001 said, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray, “we know 007 will be very careful.”

x-x-x

“Why don’t you like the idea?” James asked. Q rolled over, facing away from James. James knew that Q was touchy about James allowing the other 00s to know about their relationship. Just the 00s, mind, James wasn’t stupid enough to place a price on Q’s head for all of those disgruntled people in the past who had managed to escape from James’ grasp. However, Q didn’t appreciate how powerful the 00s were, and how protective they were of each other. If they knew who James was sleeping with, then it would be someone else to look out for Q if something happened to him.

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” Q said slowly, twisting over to look at James, his eyes wide with emotion, “it’s just I don’t see why.”

“Because I need to know that someone will look after you,” James said, “if something happens to me,”

“I don’t need looking after, 007,”

“I know you don’t,”

“Then why do the other 00s need to know?”

“Because they would stop people who would hurt you,” James said, “before they even got to you,”

“And you would do the same for them I suppose?”

“Indeed,” James said, his mouth quirking up in a smile, “being a 00 can be lonely, and knowing that someone will watch your loved ones back makes it bearable.”

“Will it help you?” Q whispered, his nose almost touching James’

“Yes,” James replied.

“Okay then,” Q said, “you can tell them,”

x-x-x

“The Quartermaster?” 008 said, as James slid into the seat opposite her. They were in a small café in London, no one knew they were here. However, 008 was the one with the best set of informants, even for one so young. She would tell the others in a way that would remove all traces.

“Don’t act so surprised,” James remarked, “you knew,”

“I guessed,” 008 replied, stirring the sugar into the coffee in front of her.

“You’re good at guessing,” James said, “Q passes on his thanks,”

“Ask him for an explosive pen on my behalf,” 008 said, her full lips twisting into a smile as she tapped the teaspoon on the side of her mug, “it would keep the young boy entertained.”

“He’s older than you,” James said.

008 gave him a knowing stare. Age didn’t matter when you were a 00, and in some ways the position aged you much more than anyone could ask for.

“Have you heard anything from 9?” James inquired. She was currently out on a mission in China, infiltrating a drug ring. If there was such a thing as a ‘friendship’ between 00s, it would be that. James liked the other agent, she had a blunt way of putting things and a unique outlook on her job drawn from her Chinese heritage.

“She’s safe,” 008 replied. James smiled, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, he slid the phone out, noticing M’s number lighting up the front of the screen.

“Daddy?” 008 asked. James nodded, sliding out of his seat again and standing up.

“James,” 008 said, just as James was about to hit the  _answer_ button.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Good choice,” she said.


	37. Hack It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q swears a lot when he hacks systems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'Q swears a lot and Bond is absolutely bemused by that?' Hope you like it anon!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Bond, written for fun not for profit.

“Fuck,”

Bond raised an eyebrow at Q, who was muttering a number of obscene words into his laptop. Whatever impression James had held that Q was one of those people who only spoke the Queen’s English had been quickly dispelled by the man’s constant stream of swear words whenever he was trying to complete a difficult hack. This time, he was sitting in the corner of the bedroom trying to re-crack the safety into a test area set up by his fellow members of Q branch. Apparently it had something to do with a bet to see who the better hacker was, and Q was never one to back down from a bet when his coding was involved. The Quartermaster joked that _James_ was the one who had the larger ego, but watching Q tap away at the keys, his forehead creasing with determination James had to disagree.

“Shit,” Q muttered, “Arse, Fuck, Shit,”

“Do you really need to swear?”

“Don’t fucking disturb me,”

James rolled his eyes at the Quartermaster. The cup of tea he had given the other man over an hour ago was lying cold on the small coaster next to him. James had tried to move Q up from the floor, arguing that being hunched over the laptop in a position that would probably make most contortionists wince would not be good for his back.

That suggestion had been met by a very succinct, “touch me and die, 007,”

If Q was using James’ _official_ title then he _was_ in trouble.

James slumped onto the bed, muscles sore from the long flight home the previous day. It had been a relatively easy mission, with only two near-death experiences and Q only threatening to make his weapons neon yellow for his next mission a mere five times. The constant tapping of Q’s fingers against the keys of his laptop, along with the gentle hum of the machine itself was a soothing backdrop for James. He liked Q’s little flat, it was far more cosy than Bond’s sprawling modern apartment which he barely ever used.

It felt like he had slept for only a few minutes, after all he was only a light sleeper, until he was awoken with a ‘fucking success!”

James cracked open on of his eyes to see Q beaming a triumphant smile at his laptop screen, which was covered in hundreds of lines of flashing code. Chuckling evilly, Q hit the enter button on his screen, causing the laptop screen to show a large processing button which then disappeared again.

“What have you done?” James asked.

“Hacked them back,” Q replied, an evil glare in his eye, “they set the challenge, so it’s only fair if I prove my point.”

“What did you do?”

“On Monday,” Q replied, closing the lid of the laptop and gingerly standing up, before slumping next to James on the bed, “they will find that the normal login system has been replaced with a Tetris game that they have to beat to access the system.”

“You are wicked,” James said.

“You’re getting that now?” Q replied.


	38. It's all about the Gadgets. Really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q passes out from overworking. Bond takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted me with ‘one where Q is overworked until he collapses until he collapses and Bond feels all guilty and cue the cuddling?’. This might have veered off prompt slightly but I hope you enjoy it anon! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun not for profit.

Q was one of those people who didn’t give up.

He was fuelled on tea (he refused coffee), which would gradually grow stronger and stronger until it was a deep black colour with a harsh bitter taste. It would lose its taste, its texture, and simply become fuel, a drug which he needed to keep going.

Sugar, sugar helped. There was a slowly descending packet of biscuits he ate, snacking instead of eating anything proper. He knew it wasn’t good for him, he knew that there was a limit somewhere, a point when he would crash.

However, he refused to give up, he refused to let Bond’s life be left in the balance because he was feeling a bit tired.

No one else would notice, he was able to keep up the façade well enough to ensure that. So when it was late, and all had gone home no one noticed the Quartermaster sway a little, then a lot, and then collapse on the floor in an exhausted and messy heap.

No one except for the agent who had strolled in the door to explain why his most recent gadget was lying in ten separate pieces.

x-x-x

When Q woke, he was lying in unfamiliar surroundings.

Firstly, he was in a bed. Before he passed out, he distinctly remembered not being in a bed.

Secondly, it wasn’t his bed. He had never been in this apartment before, and certainly not one so lavishly decorated. He didn’t have to be an expert on interior design to know that it was expensive furniture that lined the bedroom.

Thirdly, there was an unamused agent sitting at the foot of the bed, dressed more casually than Q had ever seen him in MI6.

“Where-”

“My place,” Bond answered before Q could even finish the question, “you passed out in MI6 because you overworked yourself.”

“I didn’t,” Q replied, pushing himself up on his elbows, his head spinning slightly, “overwork myself.”

“You were collapsed out on the floor,”

“It’s your fault for trying to get yourself killed, 007,”

“As my Quartermaster you hardly need to worry about my safety,”

“I don’t,”

“You don’t?”

“If you die I won’t get my equipment back,”

“And that’s enough to make you pass out from not having properly eaten in days?”

“I like my gadgets,” Q replied in a huff, fumbling for his glasses which had been carefully placed next to the bed and pushing them on. The amused grin across Bond’s face came into view, along with the well defined muscles the casual shirt he wore were unable to hide.

Yep, he cared about his tech. It was definitely his tech he cared about.

Q swallowed, giving Bond a harsh stare before asking;

“If you don’t care about me,” Q asked, “why am I in your flat?”

Bond smirked.

“I like your gadgets too much to let you be ill from exhaustion,” the agent replied, getting up from the bed and walking towards the door, “now don’t be long or you’ll miss breakfast.”

After that day, Q became more and more familiar with the feeling of waking up in 007’s bedroom.


	39. Lost in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q loses Bond and isn’t sure if he’ll return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who requested ‘Q loses sight and sound of bond during a pursuit when a particularly violent storm hits London.’
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own Bond, written for fun and not for profit.

“Bond!”

Radio silence crackled down the end of the comm. Furiously pushing the gadget into his ear as if the action would return Bond’s voice to his ear, Q looked up at the grim faces in Q branch.

The storm had hit, with most of MI6 bunkering in the lower parts of the building. Bond had been stupid enough to insist on going out in the storm to try and pursue the one last chance they had to capture Theo Gestagt, the weapons dealer who was trying to flee the country before the Storm had hit. Scientists were calling it a freak weather system, a hurricane heading over towards Europe and being channelled up the English Channel to wreak havoc upon both the UK and France. In one week the south coast and London had been hit with rainstorms, hail, sleet, snow and hurricane force winds which had taken down power lines, severing communication channels.

And Bond was out in the middle of it.

“Bond,” Q hissed into his earpiece, hearing only the radio crackle in response, “can you copy?”

_He’s fine,_ Q thought,  _he can cope._

But then no one had ever really encountered such weather in the UK, at least not this bad. However talented Bond was, however durable the agent could be against gunfire and people trying to kill him, he couldn’t face the raw force of nature, alone.

The edge of the table bit into his hands as he gripped the metal tightly, trying to remove his frustration and his worry into the cold metal surface. The blinking dot on the screen representing Bond hadn’t moved since they had lost contact, with the storm killing all the coms. Instead it just flashed, like a heartbeat, a reminder of what was at stake, for what James was sacrificing his life.

_Come on James,_ Q begged,  _come on._

x-x-x

Q was still there four hours later, when they hadn’t heard anything back from James. He was slumped on the floor, head resting against the cold of the table leg. The cold from the metal seeped into his skull, releasing some of the tension that had built up over the previous few hours. His glasses were skewed on his face, eyes tired from focussing on the little red dot on the computer screen.

“Q,” a voice whispered.

Q looked up, shaken from his slumber by the warm dulcet tones of the voice addressing him. He pushed his glasses back onto his face, the figure coming into perspective. Wet hair was plastered to his head, and water still dripped down his cheek, falling onto his outstretched arm that shook Q’s shoulder.

“James?” Q whispered, as he flung him arms around the wet agent, “you’re okay.”

“Of course I am,” James replied, pulling Q in close, “I couldn’t leave you could I?”


	40. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Q seriously considered hacking the names databases and replacing the meaning for 'James', to 'incompetent at returning anything in one piece.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For bouncyball252, who prompted me with 'Q and Bond are together. One day in Q-branch Bond forgets himself and does something sweet like hug Q from behind.' I may have wandered off prompt a little bit, but I hope you like it anyway! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> A/N: Name meanings are taken of Wikipedia, so that should tell you about how accurate they probably are.

When at work, Q would James, _007,_ James still used the letter ‘Q’ as a title rather than a name. James hadn’t asked about Q’s real name, and considering how many false identities he had spun out over the years Q himself wasn’t sure what his real name had been. It was like if someone had dyed their hair so many times they couldn’t quite picture themselves with the exact shade of natural hair colour they had begun with.

Q had been a James once, for two years. He liked the name, (he liked it even more on 007,) it had come from the Latin Iacomus, which in turn had been taken from the hebrew name Yaʻaqov. It meant ‘ _sevant of the lord,”_ which amused Q greatly because James was nothing if a dedicated agent for MI6 and his country.

He had also been a George once (Greek, _Georgios,_ which meant _farmer ,_ or _earth worker_ ). Those had been a bad six months, working under the radar from the authorities just after university where he had accidently stumbled across some file he really shouldn’t have.

There had also been a period where he had gone by the name Scott (Scottish origin, meaning _Gaelic speaker_ ) which had been an interesting period where he had managed to break his best time for reconstructing a computer blindfolded. It had been during that time he had become involved with some rather nefarious individuals that had resulted in his eventual recruitment to MI6. When he had joined MI6, however, he had used the name Alexander (Greek, _defender of men_ ) which had given Q a little kick that he was now in the employment of the foreign side of the British Intelligence operation.

But now he was simply Q, a letter, a title and a name all rolled into one. He was responsible for providing the 00s with the equipment to undergo their missions and come out alive. Some of the 00s were quite reliable (001 always brought the equipment back in one piece, and 005 was always up for a conversation on what improvements could be made), yet 007 seemed to think that the millions of pounds which when into developing his equipment appeared out of nowhere. When Q had made an explosive-proof gun, 007 had dropped it in the bottom of a river. When Q had made the tech waterproof, 007 had managed to douse it in 10 molar acid. When Q had created acid-proof tech, 007 had simply lost it.

Sometimes, Q seriously considered hacking the names databases and replacing the meaning for _James,_ to _incompetent at returning anything in one piece._

Q spotted the email from Eve flash up in the corner of his screen, saying that 007 had  just left the meeting with M. Finger’s flying over the keyboard, Q thanked Eve for the advance warning, pushing his glasses further up his nose to bring the screen into focus. If 007 failed to bring back any equipment this time Q was going to have to threaten him hacking his phone to replace the ringtone with the Mission Impossible theme tune again.

Ten minutes later, 007 sauntered into Q branch wearing the same unreadable expression which he wore whenever he was in the office. At home, Q had seen James slip out of the rough façade, his ice cold eyes becoming softer and kinder when he would kiss Q along his neck.

“Did you manage to bring anything back, 007?” Q asked, glaring at 007 over the rim of his glasses. 007 gave Q a wry grin that told him everything he needed to know.

“Where did you lose it this time?” Q asked, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Dropped it,” 007 replied, not sounding apologetic at all, “when I was fighting on the riverboat.”

“That radio cost half a million pounds,” Q said.

“I brought you a present,” James said, as if that would help replace the half a million pound hole which would not be recorded in R&D’s accounts.

Q gave James a warning look that the other man didn’t notice. Instead, James slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and brought out a small keyring and placed it in Q’s hand. It was a small miniature of the Key to Rome, which James had probably snatched of a stall when he had been running through the streets of Italy after disarming the man on the riverboat.

 _Stupid idiot,_ Q thought, curling his hand around James’ own, squeezing it slightly in thanks. It wouldn’t make up for the equipment James had managed to destroy, but with James it was the sentiment which counted.

Someone coughed, breaking the moment.

Q didn’t jump, instead took the key ring from James and hid it up his sleeve in a slight of hand move he had learnt when he was eleven. James barely moved, trained not to jump at any sort of surprise.

“I forgot to give these to James,” Eve said, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them, and giving Q a stare that said, _we are going to meet for drinks to discuss this._ She handed the files over to Q lightly, and Q saw the words _blueprints_ written on the top corner of one of the pages.

“For your next weapon,” Q said, glancing at James, whose face was totally impassive under Eve’s demanding stare. The woman was a force of nature, and accidently shooting James in the shoulder was no excuse for her to treat Bond any differently. In any case, Q was certain it would be he who was going to get the proverbial dressing down in the pub to explain just _why_ she hadn’t been informed of their relationship. Eve had become like the older sister Q had never had, which meant she expected Q to spill on what he was up to in case she had ‘to hunt anyone down who hurt him’ (her words, not Q’s).

Q had reminded her that he had a whole army of MI6’s top agents he could use to make an escape with if the time required it. Now Q had the sneaking suspicion Eve would connect the dots to realise just _who_ he had been referring to with that statement.

“Play nicely boys,” Eve said, glancing back towards Q, “and Q are you free for drinks later?”

“Of course,” Q replied, smiling. There would be no getting away from her, and sadly he couldn’t threaten her with hacking her phone because Eve could just blackmail him back with other information she knew.

“Fantastic,” Eve said, her eyes lighting up evilly, “see you later then,”

She turned to leave Q branch, heels striking the floor loudly as she went. Some of the Q branch ‘minions’, as Q liked to called them, looked up from their computers as Eve went, but most didn’t. They had other ways of observing people without having to use the ability of sight granted to them by evolution.

“You are going to get grilled,” James chuckled.

“Sod off to medical,” Q said, “I can’t have you dying on me now Eve knows about us.”


	41. I'm not going anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People who I am with,” his breathing was ragged, thick with emotion, “don’t usually stay alive long afterwards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted me with 'James has a coping mechanism for when he cares too much for people/women during missions. He has sex with them. He has trained himself into a Love em and Leave type of guy simply to keep sane. Because even if he manages to save them, he has to leave them, in the end. That's why he refuses to have sex with Q.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“But _why?”_ Q cried, stepping away from James, his face folding in hurt and confusion. James swore, clenching his fists, and pressing his knuckles into his forehead.

“People who I am with,” his breathing was ragged, thick with emotion, “don’t usually stay alive long afterwards.”

“So this is because you believe in some superstition?” Q practically shook with emotion, “you _really_ do have a big ego.”

“This isn’t about my personality,” James growled, drawing himself up to his full height. A lesser man would have been intimated by the towering figure, but Q simply squared his shoulders and stared right back at James.

“I thought I could trust you,” Q’s voice was quiet, his rage now under control. His brow pinched in the way James knew so well from when he had sauntered into Q branch missing his equipment.

It made him look kind of hot.

_Not now,_ James thought to himself, scowling inwards, _not now._

“My job is to get information,” James hissed, “in whatever way I can.”

“I’ve seen your file,” Q replied, “you sometimes have to fuck people to get information.”

“That’s what you think,” James said, grabbing Q’s forearm tightly. The Quartermaster, to his credit, didn’t wince at all. Maybe they had been dating for so long that the smaller man was no longer intimated by James’ bulk.

“It’s not what you think,” James said, the anger leaving his voice, as he released Q’s arm. There would be a bruise there in the morning, a reminder to make James feel very guilty.

“The human mind cannot cope,” James said, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, “ _I_ can’t cope.”

He looked up at Q, the anger seeping out of his body. He recognised the return of the seeping void of emotion he carried around with him. It provided him with an inner peace that he could never really achieve, the memories of those he had killed and the actions he had done ensured that.

“I always have to leave them,” James whispered, “they die or I leave them. Either way I am alone.”

Memories of the dead rose up in front of him, those covered with gold or oil, those dead by gunshot or hanging. The bodies, void of life, sprawled across the bed they had shared like a taunt from those he followed. He remembered the soft kisses, the harsh kissers, those who had been young and innocent, and those who had been experienced. He remembered them all, ghosts of his past constantly haunting him, stopping him from ever moving on. He couldn’t not really, to move on completely would to disregard their memory, to disregard _his_ part in their demise.

He felt the bed depress slightly next to him, a light hand press against his wrist.

“You are _never_ alone,” Q said, voice thick with emotion. James glanced over at Q, his face partially covered by the bad lighting in the room, but James could still see the other’s eyes shimmering.

“I know,” James said, wrapping his arm around Q, allowing the other man to lean on his shoulder. He swallowed, feeling a cold tear crawl down his cheek, trying to push the memories back.

“However much of an arse you can be sometimes,” Q said, resting his head on James’ shoulder, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	42. Ventricular Fibrillation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnapping James Bond had always been a bad idea. After all, Q had a previous profession before he had become the Quartermaster at MI6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea, apparently Assassin!Q caught my muse and shook it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this was written for fun and not for profit.
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNINGS: Character death by heart attack.**
> 
>  
> 
> NB - currently a stand alone one-shot, although it might be continued later when I get some time.

Tom was rather pleased with himself when he unlocked the door to his cramped flat. Everything had gone to plan, and now those above him would be pleased with his actions. He might even deserve a promotion after this successful raid.

 _Another time,_ Tom thought, shutting the door behind him locking it securely. He had numerous deadbolts on the doors and windows, some manual others controlled by a remote server Tom himself had designed. The rain continued to hammer down on the door as Tom slid out his phone to engage the electronic deadbolts again, only feelings safe when he heard the loud _click_ of the bolt sliding home.

He was safe, for now.

Flicking on the light switch, he unwound the scarf he had wrapped around his neck, frowning at the bloodstain speck on the end of it. Their customer had been rather difficult, and it was only a testament to Tom’s skill with chemicals that they had managed to drug the man. He had flailed like a wild captured animal before they had done that, killing two of Tom’s favourite men.

How disappointing.

Tom shrugged off his coat, hanging it meticulously on the peg, before creeping down the tiny hallway and into the cramped kitchen. His fingers automatically found the light switch, turning on the naked bulb above him which flickered intermittently. He had thought of getting the light fixed, after all Tom was well capable to do such menial tasks, but he left the broken light alone. It was comforting, the flickering light above him, it was a reminder that he was not the only broken thing in the world.

He pressed the kettle on, getting his cup from the cupboard. The kettle was almost empty, rattling loudly as Tom plucked a tea bag out of the box, pulling out all of the corners carefully to ensure each side was straight before dropping it carefully into his mug.

The kettle clicked off.

Tom hummed a dark tune to himself as he poured the water from the kettle into the cup, watching the tea infuse through the teabag in the dim light. He could smell the caffeine now, a delicious smell which soothed his aching and bloodied hands as he inhaled deeply. Plucking a spoon from the side, Tom stirred the tea exactly seven times clockwise and one counter-clockwise, before removing the tea bag in a practised movement and throwing it into the bin.

Then he took a hefty gulp of the tea, enjoying the warmth of the liquid sliding down his throat.

“That was a mistake,” a voice hissed.

Tom dropped the cup in shock, jumping back into the small kitchen counter. A thin figure stepped forward from where they had been concealed in the shadows, dressed head to toe in black, their jacket zipped up to their chin and hands covered in black leather gloves.

But the rage, the rage in the man’s eyes was what terrified Tom the most, making his heart drum faster. It was like looking into the eyes of a demon from the depths of hell.

In that moment Tom felt fear.

“Where is he?” the man asked quietly. Tom couldn’t hear the man properly, as he scrambled for support from the counter he lent against. However, his hands and feet couldn’t respond properly they were shaking that badly. Tom slid to the floor, grasping for a shard of broken mug to defend himself with, yet his hands couldn’t respond to the brain’s command.

“Who?” the word slipped between Tom’s lips like a whisper.

“The man you stole,” the unknown man said, kneeling down next to Tom, face half concealed by the swinging light bulb above him, “the one you sold this afternoon to the highest bidder.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking-”

Tom stopped talking as a barrel of a gun was pressed against the side of his neck.

“I don’t know,” Tom whispered, his heart was hammering now.

“Tell. Me.” the other man said, pressing the gun deeper into Tom’s neck. Tom was sure he would get a bruise from the pressure of the gun, a neat circular ring that would be evidence of his onslaught.

“I just get-”

“You drugged him,” the man whispered, “you stole him, and you gain a benefit from it. There is no ‘I just get paid’,”

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He knew this had been a mistake, he had been almost free from the underworld when the job had come in; a simple job, a job that would make him very rich, very quickly. His greed had outweighed his reason, and he had taken the job.

Kidnap this man, James Bond, he had been told by someone only known as ‘ _L’,_ kidnap him and you get ten million pounds.

Now that greed had resulted in him lying in the remains of his tea, the liquid seeping into his jeans, mixing with the blood spatters which were already there.

“Out,” Tom croaked, his nerve cracking, “I heard someone say they were ‘taking him home again’.”

The gun was taken back from his neck. Tom exhaled heavily, expecting his heart rate to drop with the removal of the threat.

It didn’t.

“Do you know what happens,” the other man said, “when you overdose on caffeine?”

Tom’s body convulsed suddenly, and he could feel his heart beat begin to miss its rhythm. Tom knew how this worked, the ventricles of his heart would be contracting out of order, out of time. He shuddered as he clawed at his chest, feeling light headed.

“Who are you?” Tom croaked, as his hands began to shake with fear. It only took a few minutes to kill, once a full cardiac arrest was in process. Tom could feel his muscles shaking, blood rising in his mouth as he bit through his tongue in pain.

“Some know me as, Q,” the man, Q, said, leaning forward into the light to allow Tom to get a good look at his face as Tom clung onto the last strings of life, “and I’m back in business.”

Tom screams were cut off when his heart failed.


	43. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James goes to meet and old friend, John Watson, in a coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For griffing07 who prompted me "bond and john are army buddys and scotland yard find out about Sherlock and Qs relationship" and then I took various aspects of it and wrote something totally different! But I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or Sherlock, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“So he was an old fling?” James asked, walking into the bedroom bearing to large cups of tea. He had become acquired to the sweeter drink over time, after all Q did not have a single speck of coffee (the devil’s drink he called it) in his flat.

Q looked up from where he was furiously tapping away on his laptop. James smiled at the other man, shuffling along the small space between the end of the bed and the wall to place the two cups of tea on the table next to the bed. The table was stained with numerous rings of different colours, a statement of how much caffeine Q would drink when he was working. James had tried to tell Q that typing on the bed was going to be bad for his back, but the stubborn Quartermaster refused to give up the habit. He claimed it wasn’t as bad as some of James’ habits, namely falling through roofs and nearly _killing himself._

“One time,” Q said, adjusting his glasses, “we were both pretty screwed up at that time anyway.”

“I’m not judging,” James chuckled, crawling over the smaller man to his side of the bed, “what does he want?”

“Help with a case,” Q said, “I owe him a favour.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I was like,” Q said. James nodded, it was all Q needed to know. Q was very touchy about his past, as was James. They were all broken creatures who has sold their souls to the preservation of an ideal in the form of MI6. Q hadn’t told James the whole story, but then James hadn’t told Q about everything in his life either.

What James did know is that Q had found himself on the wrong side of the law with his computer skills, addicted to various substances as well as the thrill of breaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be in. It was only after Q had been picked up by the police that M had swooped in and reigned in his resources for MI6. After nearly two years of rehabilitation and rebuilding his life, Q had become one of the youngest Quartermasters in the history of MI6.

Q’s laptop bleeped.

“Apparently he says you know his friend,” Q asked, shooting a questioning look, “John Watson?”

It took a few minutes before James remembered the face that went along with the name. The image of a small man, strongly built and dressed in the uniform of his service, rose in James’ mind. He had first met John Watson when he had been serving in the Navy, known only then as Commander Bond, a few years before he had been recruited by MI6.

“Yes,” James replied, “I know him.”

Q’s fingers flew over the keyboard quickly, his computer screen flashing.

“Want to meet up for old times sake?” Q asked.

James knew what that meant. Q had to go and visit this _Sherlock Holmes,_ apparently some detective of another, and he didn’t want James to be there when the meeting occurred. Probably because it would involve talking about Q’s past that he wasn’t ready for James to know.

“Why not,” James said, pressing a kiss on Q’s cheek, “I’d best get dressed then.

“You could go with minimal clothing,” Q remarked, “isn’t that what you do in the army?”

“I would have you know,” James said, “I was in the _navy,_ totally different organisation.”

“You like the sea?” Q joked.

“We’re the senior service,” James replied, “I won’t be long, we don’t want to keep your friend waiting for us do we?”

x-x-x

James met John Watson in a café underneath 221B Baker Street.

“James,” John said, shaking James’ hand warmly, “I’ve got you a coffee already if that’s alright?”

“Great, thanks,” James said, unwinding his scarf from around his neck. It might be February, but somehow the weather over the UK had managed to get itself in a right mess. Snow lined the streets, causing much havoc for all public services and the news was having a heyday interviewing everyone in existence about what their thoughts on the snow where. James and Q had almost been caught by one reporter, until James had given them a stare which would send most hardened terrorists running, and Q hacked the reporter’s equipment from his phone to play Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’.

“I have to apologise for Sherlock being odd and not letting you in on the meeting,” John said, as he led James to a small table in the back of the café, “but I think if you’d met him you’d understand.”

“No worries,” James replied, smiling. After all, he would be a rather useless secret agent if he would be irritated by the fact that people still had secrets. He would be out of a job otherwise.

“How are you?” John asked, “It’s been what, ten years nearly?”

“I try not to count them,” James chuckled, “how are you holding up? Last I saw of you, you were looking rather green on the side of my boat.”

“Boats are dangerous,” John said, “much prefer keeping my feet placed on solid ground. Anyway I’m out of the service now.”

“How come?”

“Got shot,”

“Bad luck,” James replied simply. Nothing more needed to be said.

Their drinks arrived, and James was grateful for the warmth from the liquid. It seemed there was minimal heating on the café, for some reason that was unknown to James.

“So what are you up to?” John asked, “I mean, Sherlock could probably say within a few seconds but sadly I’m not as good as him.”

James smiled. Q had explained a little about the great Sherlock Holmes and his methods of using deduction to solve crimes. Some might consider it almost inhuman, but James had to appreciate the simple methods of logic that were behind it. It made a nice change to know that not everyone thought in deep webs of political conspiracy.

“Still helping out,” James replied, “but if I told you more, I’d have to shoot you.”

John’s eyes lit up in understanding.

“Bloody dangerous stuff if you ask me,” John said, “you must have nerves of steel.”

“Running after a detective isn’t as dangerous?”

John paused as he sipped his drink, sending a questioning glance across the top of his mug.

“I can use technology you know,” James said, “I’ve read your blog.”

“Ah,” John said, “I’ve seemed to have gained a following on that.”

“You write well for an ex-army doctor,” James joked.

“Please,” John replied, “I’m surprised you don’t have sea legs on land,”

James shook his head, taking another swing of coffee. His navy days seemed far behind him, now, although he had kept the uniform in the back of his cupboard, a ghost from a past life when he was trying to find meaning in the world around him. Although, old habits had died hard, and James would always get an amused look from Q when he would sit down to polish his shoes properly (cloth and rag, none of this ‘instant polish’ crap).

“How long do you think they’ll be?” James asked nodding upwards to the flat above the shop.

“No idea,” John said, “apparently Sherlock wanted some database looked at.”

As it turned out, James and John were in the café until closing time. 


	44. However Long I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid on stage singing is quite good when James enters the pub.
> 
> (Or Q plays in the band at James' local.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listen to far too much Coldplay, and then this is born.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, belongs to the people who own him. This is written for fun and not for profit.

The kid on stage singing is quite good when James enters the pub. It is one of those live music nights, where the local small time bands perform to the locals and a few of their friends for a free drink. James likes it, after all it adds a little character to the place he frequents so much.

He gets his usual drink and sets himself down in one of the empty chairs. A few of the regulars nod to him and he raises his drink in reply. He won’t be here for long, after all he has to get to work in the morning and his manager wouldn’t like it if he turned up for work with a hangover. M has a fierce disposition when it comes to running the coffee house and wouldn’t take any excuses for James not to be there to make the morning batch of cakes.

James sips his drink and listens to the band. They’re young, or at least they _look_ young to James, but the poster plastered to the large wooden columns which are dotted throughout the pub say that they’re a professional band. The kid, well not kid, _man,_ James noticed when he walked in plays the guitar with a fierce expression on his face, lost totally to the world. James taps his foot along with the music, it’s nice to know that the future of music isn’t left solely to poorly dressed boybands with autotune.

The band finish their set half and hour later, and wave a few CDs which they obviously have had produced out of the few profits they make. James  makes a tactical manoeuvre over to the bar when he sees the young man put down his guitar and get a drink.

“You’re good,” James says to the man as he leans on the bar. He hasn’t chatted anyone up in a while, not after Arthur left a few months before. Eve has been pressing him to go out and get laid, she says that he carried around far too much UST.

“Thanks,” the young man says, taking his drink from the barman, and turning towards James “you don’t happen to be a music producer do you?”

“No,” James chuckled, “I’m a baker.”

“I believe that,” the man replied, sipping his drink. His voice was laced with a bit of doubt. Yet there was a twinkle of mischief in the man’s eye, as if he was toying with James’ stature and choice of profession.

In James’ defence, he could make _bloody brilliant_ cakes.

“I’m James,” James holds his hand out to the other man.

“Q,” the man replied, shaking James’ hand, “you here for long?”

James thinks about M’s demands to be in work on time for _once._ James is sure that Eve will cover for him if she knows that he’s followed her advice regarding his ‘UST problem’.

“However long I need really,” James replies, a suggestive smile appearing on his lips. Q seems to understand the hidden message, and his eyes light up in response. Q twists himself just so as he leans against the bar to give James a rather good view of the other man’s profile.

 _Yes,_ James thinks, _sod M._

He had far more important business to attend to.


	45. Temporay Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q invents a shrinking ray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'Q invents a shrink ray, shenanigans ensue possibly?' Hope you like it! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, belongs to all relevant owners. This is written for fun and not for profit.

“Baaah,” James’ voice was incredibly high pitched, as he failed in the now too large suit. He looked like a small fluffy penguin, the longs suit arms looking like flippers as he waved his arms. The once serious face was now small and chubby, gurgling in amusement at the material.

“What went wrong?” Eve asked, as Q pulled out his phone and took a photo of James as he stuffed the arm of a very expensive suit into his mouth.

“James was tampering with it,” Q said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. James looked up expectantly at Q when he heard his name. The arm of the suit slipped out of his mouth, blue eyes filling up with tears as he let out an almighty scream at the top of his lungs

“Now you’ve set him off,” Eve commented, glaring at Q. Q held his hands up in a sign of pleading at Eve, however she simply smiled evilly as she weaved around the wailing James and out of Q’s office.

“Make sure he doesn’t eat anything dodgy,” Eve said, nodding towards James, “I’ll be back in an hour,”

“Eve!” Q protested, pointing towards the wailing James Bond, “what am I supposed to do with him?”

“Q,” Eve gave him a serious look, “you can build a shrinking-”

“- actually it’s a molecule rejuvenation unit,”

“-ray,” Eve continued, “you can care for a small child until I get back.”

“How long are you going to be?” Q pleaded, a horrified look passing across his face as he looked at James who had just paused to take in a deep breath between his wails. Q slowly crouched down until he was at eye level with his miniaturised version of the most frustrating agent under his command.

“I can deal with animals,” Q muttered, as Eve shut the door to his office, “I can deal with babies.”

James promptly burped loudly, before tumbling onto his back and giggling.

“God help me,” Q sighed, pinching the brow of his nose.

He needed to fix that Molecule Rejuvenation Unit and fast.


	46. Chairlegs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You work in Q branch, you’re not supposed to know combat skills with _chairlegs_ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'BAMF!Q where Q and Bond are kidnapped together and Q saves them both through some form of badassery (hacking, fighting, whatever you want) and Bond is surprised!' Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, belongs to the people who own him. This is written for fun and not for profit.

“Well this is inconvenient,”

The bag over Q’s head muffled his words, and he was beginning to dislike the bitter taste of the material between his lips. His hands were still tied behind his back, probably with the rope which had been lying around the marina where Q and James had been ambushed. The chair he was strapped to was beginning to give him back ache, and Q was beginning to consider asking for some lumber support.

“What you say?” one of his gruff captors asked. There were two of them, and from Q’s analysis before his head had been shoved inside the rather tasteless back, they were the brawn of the operation. Obviously they though Q as the least important part of the duo, possibly even thinking him a prostitute of James’.

Well, that is what normal people would consider when they found two men sneaking around the back of a marina in the early hours of the morning.

“You wouldn’t understand it if you tried,” Q replied, barely able to make the words form properly because of the bag.

“He’s irritating,” the other gruff guard said.

“I know I am,” Q’s words seemed to get through the bag this time, there was a trick to spitting out the material _before_ he tried to form the words.

“We could kill you,” the other gruff man growled, trying to be threatening.

“I’d like to see you try,” Q replied.

There was an angry growl from one of the guards, as a hand roughly pulled off the bag from the top of Q’s head. Q blinked, trying to make his eyes focus to the sudden change in light levels.

“You were saying?” the gruff guard said. He had the most repulsive facial expression, coupled with breath that could probably be weaponised if Q had enough time, technology, and willingness to allow the man within four feet of him.

Q smiled at the guard, before headbutting the man in the face.

The guard stumbled backwards, pulling his hand up to his nose in shock as he tried to stem the blood running from it. Q threw his body forward, flipping the chair into the air in a smooth motion as he landed on his back with a crack.

Reaction made him move as one of the guard’s fists fell near Q’s head. The chair was now broken, but Q’s hands were still tied to the broken chair legs. Wielding the wood as a weapon, Q  rolled out of the way of the guard’s blow and smoothly to his feet.

“Please,” Q said, as the two guards turned, the one with the broken nose smiling grimly to reveal the blood that was beginning to outline his teeth, “make it a challenge.”

Just as he thought, the guards were easily incensed, running towards him to try and use their larger builds against Q’s smaller frame. Q dropped to one knee as the first guard came in close, sweeping the chair leg at the side of the guard’s kneecaps.  Q danced out of the way as the man fell in pain, the other chair leg in his hand slamming down across the back of the guard’s neck, killing him.

The second guard was on top of Q before he could react, slamming into him. Q threw himself with the momentum, catapulting the larger man over his shoulder. Q smoothly rolled over, standing above the wheezing guard. His back hurt, bruised from breaking himself out of the chair, but Q was still standing, still alive.

And very determined to find James.

“Where is he?” Q knelt down next to the wheezing guard, not breaking eye contact. The man struggled for breath, but managed to spit in Q’s face.

“I thought as much,” Q sighed. His hand quickly drew back, bringing down his improvised weapon onto the man’s head. The skull cracked like an egg, killing him instantly.

“It would have been much easier if you had just told me,” Q sighed, dropping the chair leg and grabbing the radio from the fallen guard, clipping it to his trousers. Neither guard had a gun on them, after all they had been used to guard Q because they didn’t think Q would have caused any trouble.

“Teach you a lesson,” Q muttered to the glassy eyed, blood-stained corpse in front of him, “don’t judge people at first sight.”

Q stood up, wincing as his back twinged in pain. Medical were going to have a field day trying to sort it out, but that wasn’t the priority now, after all he had an agent to save.

x-x-x

James was about to let off a stream of expletives about how useless his captors were when he realised that it was Q standing over him.

“Hello, 007,”

“What that on your face?”

“It’s tomato ketchup, 007,”

“How did you escape from your captors?” James frowned, noting the bloodied bit of wood Q held lightly in his other hand. It looked like the remnants of a broken chair, but from the way Q held it James could tell he was comfortable with using it as a weapon.

“You fought them off?” James asked, suddenly finding his bound hands much more irritating. Q smiled the self satisfied smile he wore when he beat James at the app drawing game James would challenge him to when he was hanging around in Q branch.

“Is that so unbelievable?” Q raised his eyebrow, daring James to challenge him.

“Just get me out of here,” James replied gruffly. He couldn’t _believe_ Q of all people had managed to escape before him. 008 was never going to let him live this down.

“But I like the image of you tied to a chair,” Q protested.

“Q,” James growled, his voice growing dark. Q rolled his eyes, going behind James’ chair and deftly undoing the rope.

“Where did you learn to use that?”

“A chairleg?” Q replied, undoing the last knot. James rubbed his wrists to try and introduce the circulation back into his hands again.

“You know what I mean,” James said seriously, “you work in Q branch, you’re not supposed to know combat skills with _chairlegs_ ,”

“I took a martial arts class once,” Q replied, with a grin, “I’m a quick learner,”

“That isn’t an answer,”

“Well, it’s the only answer you’re going to get,” Q replied, glancing at his watch, “we need to get to the target before it’s too late.”

“I’m not going to drop this,” James said, his interest piqued. There was a knowledgeable glimmer of secrets in Q’s eyes, as he dropped his weapon to the ground with a clatter.

“You’re just jealous,” Q replied with the smirk he knew James loved so much, “come on, we have a mission to finish.”


	47. Cloaked in Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transition hadn't been hard. One gun, fifteen minutes, and twelve dead bodies later, James stepped over the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'evil!00q or serial killers!00q please?' Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> A/N: Thank you to all you guys who keep adding kudos/comments/faves/subscriptions for this collection! You are all amazing! :) <3
> 
> **TW - hints at previous capture/torture/violence.**

“Don’t make it too easy for them, love,” James said, resting his head on top of Q’s. The bodies of the men who had been protecting this stake out lay around them, blood congealing in the air. A single, naked light bulb swung ominously above them, illuminating the passive faces of the dead men that lay at their feet.

“I won’t,” Q replied, his hands flying over the keyboard. Code danced across the screen, lines upon lines of green writing which would wreck havoc into the heart of the people. It was an experiment, Q had told James, it would certainly be an interesting on at least. Give the people an idea, something which they would filter and morph in their own conversations into something totally different, a thing which suggested that governments would begin to fall. Give them a little nudge in the direction of chaos, and see how easily normality disintegrated.

It just happened to be that their test subjects were an entire population of a country, their _old_ country, England, who had abandoned them both years before to be executed by their captors. It was poetic justice, of a kind, that they were executing today. A panic, widespread and chaotic, but subtle enough for the one who had abandoned them both to realise who was behind it.

It was a lesson they had both learnt through their captivity. Normality was relative, order was nothing more than an illusion, and patriotism was simply an empty concept as people wished for somewhere to belong. It was all rather quaint, James considered, until that curtain was pulled back. Even through his time being a slave to patriotism, he had witnessed the darker side of humanity, the people who lied and killed for power and money, or those who sold you out in order to save their own skins.

It had been okay then, James supposed. He could rationalise it back then, he could put a neat line between the _bad guys_ and the _good guys._ Sure, there was a grey area between the two boundaries, but he had made that grey area his home, cloaking himself in its dark mist.

So when he had been betrayed by those he considered the _good guys,_ when he and Q had been left in that desert, the transition across that boundary hadn’t been hard. _Before,_ he would never have considered betraying his country, but that had been before he had met Q, and before he had a weakness that he couldn’t control.

Love, it was said, did silly things to people. It made them unpredictable, it took away their stability. James had found in those months in the cell that his weakness meant he could not-longer rely on his old notions of justice and _good._ No, good was relative, like all things, and to James _Q_ was the embodiment of all that was good in the world.

They could only save one asset, they had told him, and that was James. Q was to be killed to keep the secrets in his head inside his head.

The transition hadn’t been hard. One gun, fifteen minutes, and twelve dead bodies later, James stepped over the line.

Q hit the enter key with a note of finality, breaking James out from his thoughts. The code flashed faster across the screen, so fast that James could barely follow it. Having Q by his side was certainly a bonus, he was the only one after all who could give them enough money to fund their revenge. There was currently a lawsuit on-going brought the company Q had stolen from, against five different companies who all thought the other had perpetrated the theft. Q had decided to leave a sporting million in each of the companies’ various accounts to pay for the legal costs, after all litigation was an expensive pursuit.

“And now,” Q said, arching his neck to look up at James, with a wicked glare in his eyes, “we sit back and watch the world burn,”


	48. Bow Ties and Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something about the way the tie was designed that Q swore was made purely to create irritation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rum, who made [these awesome pictures.](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/44807304981/the-00q-bigbang-chatroom-is-a-place-full-of-lovely)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> Special Featuring - Cat!00Q and tea pouring activities.

“This is ridiculous,” Q sighed. His ears twitched in annoyance, and he still hadn’t managed to tame his hair into a semblance of order.

“Something the matter love?”

Q growled as he tugged at the ends of the bow tie. He could program safeguards that could prevent MI6 from being hacked by anything other than a supercomputer (which would probably take at least ten years to the job), and make lasers come from watches and contact lenses which could upload everything it was seeing to a home server.

But bow ties? Now that was beyond him.

“Come here,” James placed his hands firmly on Q’s shoulders and turned him around. Q gave a frustrated look to James, who smirked at Q’s obvious hatred of being unable to do something.

“It’s not that hard,” James commented, taking the tie and twisting it in a pattern that Q had found too bloody hard to complete. There was _something_ about the way the tie was designed that Q swore was made purely to create irritation.

“I _will_ pour tea over your head, 007,” Q remarked, his tail flicking irritably as James nestled the bow tie into his collar.

“I thought that punishment was only used when I forgot to bring home my equipment?”

“It had multiple uses,” Q remarked, “so _don’t look so smug.”_

“I’m not,” James said, “you should wear a suit more often you know,”

“And you should wear them less often,” Q commented, stepping away from James and picking up his jacket from the bed, “how long is this thing anyway?”

“A few hours,” James said, wrapping his arms around Q’s waist, “but there is a dance floor,”

“I am _not_ dancing again, James,”

“You were quite good at the waltz,”

“It’s only my tail that saved me from falling on my face,” Q remarked, “thank god for biological balance systems is all I can say,”

“One dance,” James asked, giving Q the best pleading look he could manage, “for me,”

Q sighed. There was only so much one man could do to defy that look.

“ _One_ dance only,”


	49. I'm not leaving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking to Q sometimes helped, it distracted him from the grasp of the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted 'Q keeps an eye on Bond immediately after Skyfall'. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You alright?”

James grunted at the voice, rolling over to check his clock. The time, _02:30_ danced at him in blue digital letters.

“Q, why are you awake at this time?” James asked.

“Why did you phone?”

Damn, the kid was good. James hadn’t been _intending_ to get through to Q, just to listen to his voicemail. As much as he would hate to admit it, James found the Quartermaster’s voice soothing, the scathing remarks were quick but regular. There was a predictability about Q that James found reassuring, especially since his mind could not stop asking _what if?_

“Just checking if you’re okay,” James gruffly replied, “I overhead you saying that you were working later tonight,”

Q huffed down the end of the phone. James could hear the tell-tale signs of a screwdriver being tapped against a desk, something Q only did when he was concentrating hard.

“I am fine, 007,” Q said. The screwdriver stopped tapping against the table, “I’m working on a new prototype for your next gadget, actually,”

“Really?” James asked, leaning back against the pillows. Talking to Q sometimes helped, it distracted him from the grasp of the nightmares.

“Do you want me to explain the schematics?” Q asked.

_Are you alright?_

“Why not?” James replied.

_Stay with me._

“Are you sitting comfortably?” Q questioned.

_I’m not leaving you._


	50. Pineapples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q go on a picnic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted 'Can you write a prompt where Q and Bond go out for a picnic? :)'. I then added some of the madness that is the 00Qbb chat room, and this happened. I am so sorry, anon, I have no idea what my muse is doing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Pineapple?” Q questioned, hauling the fruit out of the basket and giving James a stern stare. The sun was out, spreading its warmth across London like a comforting blanket. It was only April, yet it was one of those rare days the city experienced where it was far warmer than it should be. All of the news reporters were clamouring about it, saying it was another heatwave, whilst those who supported the prevention of Climate Change heralded it as yet another reason that humanity was going to doom itself using Carbon Dioxide.

James, however, saw the sudden warmth as a reason for a picnic.

“Why did you bring a pineapple?” Q questioned waving the fruit in front of James’ face, “I can’t stand them."

“It’s not a bad fruit,” James shrugged.

“It’s awful,”

“It has pleasing aesthetics,” James commented.

“The fact that it looks like a grenade does not count as ‘pleasing aesthetics’, James,” Q remarked.

“On that argument most fruit could be considered to look like weaponry,” James said, taking out a flask of tea and a large cake tin from the picnic basket, “peaches, bananas, oranges,”

“Tomatoes,” Q placed the pineapple next to the cake tin, where it wobbled on the uneven ground.

“What?” James asked, pausing as he took the second flask of coffee out of the basket. He had simply refused to just drink the tea Q had made.

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Q remarked, “or at least biologically they are considered as such. The US legal systems begs to differ,”

“How on earth do you know that?” James asked.

Q smiled at him.

“I’m a genius,”

“Of weaponry, yes, but you’re not a chef,”

“How do you know that?” Q replied, feining insult, “I could be a wonderful cook,”

“The dinner you cooked the other night begs to differ,”

“It wasn’t that bad,”

“It was black,”

“I’m learning,” Q picked up the pineapple and threw it at James, whose quick reflexes caught it easily.

“Slowly,” James said, with a smile, “you’re lucky you have me really,”

“Indeed,” Q replied dryly, “who would have thought it, MI6’s most notorious agent was an accomplished chef,”

“I have many hidden talents,” James’ smirk hinted, as always, at much more.

“Don’t I know,” Q replied, matching James' own grin.


	51. I’d thought you’d never ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three times Bond wanted to ask Q out, and the time he finally did.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me with 'Three times Bond wanted to ask Q out, and the time he finally did.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

The first time was outside a coffee shop in the winter. Q was dressed in his coat that almost swallowed his body, with a scarf wrapped up to his chin. James smiled as Q blew on his cup of tea, trying furiously to cool the drink. The steam was whipped up from the top of the cardboard mug, almost smothering Q’s face. James himself had his own drink in his gloved hand, the lid still on it. He had only brought his because otherwise Q would have never brought his own cup of tea.

It was in that moment, when James watched Q take a tentative sip of his tea, that he wanted to ask him out. He could feel the words bubbling up in his throat, a need coursing through his body.

“Something the matter, James?” Q asked, peering at James over the top of his tea. James smiled, shaking his head. No, not this time, there were too many variables, too much danger to place Q in.

“Nothing,” James replied.

x-x-x

The second time James almost asked Q out, he was standing in a warehouse surrounded by dead bodies, trying to access a computer mainframe.

“Just hit enter, 007” Q said from the earpiece in his ear. His voice sounded mangled, almost tinny, as the small receiver in his ear could not capture all the perfect nuances of Q’s rich voice. James did as he was instructed, the code Q had instructed him to write disappearing in a blip, the screen flashing up complex numbers and letters in it.

“Got it?” James asked. Q hummed the affirmative, and James could hear the clicking of keys from down the receiver. Now James had managed to put a back door into the system, under Q’s instruction, Q could access all the information he needed.

A sound outside the door, caught James’ attention. Instinct saved him, diving behind the heavy desk as bullets rained overhead. It was a short burst, probably from an automatic pistol. James twisted, firing a warning shot over the top of the desk.

Another hail of bullets crashed around him.

“Could you please silence him, 007?” Q remarked, “I am having awful trouble trying to type with your racket in the background,”

James smirked, waiting for the bullets to stop. Stepping up in one smooth movement, James turned and shot the assailant in the head. The man’s head snapped back as the bullet hit home, crashing to the floor loudly.

“You’ve got more coming, 007,” Q said, “I can see them on the monitors,”

“Of course there’s bloody more of them,” James muttered. He swiped one of the heavier automatic rifles from the closest dead body and slung the strap over his shoulder.

“Which way?” James asked, hearing the heavy pounding of feet coming closer to the room.

“Fire exit to your right,” Q remarked. James spun in the direction, noting the heavy fire door at the back of the room. He was only on the second floor, the fire escape would be quickest as most of the guards had been drawn inside anyway.

“Where would you be without me?” Q asked, as James shouldered the door open, and fell out on to the fire escape stairs as shots rang out behind him. He kicked the door shut, and stumbled down the stairs, trying to keep his balance.

“Distraction please, Q,” James said, as he vaulted the last set of stairs and set out in a run towards the many warehouse vans. However he was stopped when an explosion rocked the warehouse, blowing out the floor James had just been standing on.

“Did you know that the safety on this building is awful?” Q commented, “come along, 007, I can’t magic up more explosions for you,”

James hurtled towards the vans, drawing his gun and shooting at the locked door. His ears rang from the explosion, but he was able to pull himself into the cab and rip open the wires which would allow him to jump start the engine.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” James remarked, “you might engineer a way to blow my laptop up in my face,”

“You piss me off on a daily basis, 007,” Q remarked, just as the engine of the van jumped into life. James slammed the van into first, accelerating the van in a squeal of tyres and smoke.

“I’ll make it up to you,” James said.

“How?” Q answered.

_By taking you out to dinner,_ James thought to himself.

“James?” Q asked.

“I’ll buy you a present,” James replied, as he drove through the gates, the thin metal parting easily as the heavy van ploughed through it.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Q said.

x-x-x

The third time James wanted to ask Q out, he was lying in medical surrounded by tubes and wires.

“What happened?” he asked. Q raised his eyebrow.

“You got shot,”

“That’s evident,” James grunted, his shoulder hurt as he tried to sit up. He slumped heavily against the pillows.

It was then he noticed Q’s blood shot eyes.

“How long have you been here?” James asked.

“Do you think I would spend my time watching over you James?” Q asked.

“You’re my guardian angel,” James joked, “of course you would,”

“I am not your guardian angel, 007,” Q remarked seriously, “I’m your Quartermaster.”

“A guardian angel with a perchance for explosives then?” James questioned.

Q smirked.

“Possibly,” Q said.

_You care don’t you?_ James thought, _you really do care?_

However, just as James was about to ask Q for dinner when he was out of Medical, the doctors arrived in James’ room, hustling Q out of it. James watched the retreating Quartermaster’s back with a pang of sadness.

x-x-x

“You free on Friday?”

Q looked up from where he was hunched over the innards of the laptop James had brought back from his mission with bleary eyes.

“What?” Q asked.

“Friday, are you free?” James asked.

“Yes,” Q said, his voice sounding suspicious.

“Dinner,” James gave Q his best smile.

“I’d thought you’d never ask,” Q replied.


	52. We're not all free to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James was tempted to block Q from leaving until he told him just why he couldn't go abroad, but he didn't. They both had their secrets, and it would take time for the truth to come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For chibura who prompted me with 'Q never leaves London without MI6’s surveillance. In fact, he is not afraid of flying. He is not allowed to. He is a result of a cloning experiment in which the purpose is to create a human being with super intelligence. Bond accidentally finds out the truth.' I've played about with the prompt a little, but I hope you like it! :)
> 
> Thank you to all of you who keep leaving kudos/comments and generally being lovely people!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“So why can’t you fly?” James asked.

“Because humanity has not yet evolved wings in its biological make up, 007,” Q replied, handing James his documents for the mission in a thick brown envelope. It was heavier than usual, probably because of the multiple passports he would need to use.

“You know what I mean,” James shook the envelope to confirm its contents.

“It’s a national secret and that is all I can say,” Q smirked at James, pushing a small black box over the table towards the agent “your equipment is the standard issue, apart from the watch with the radio hidden in the back of it, and the contact lenses with the data analysing feed in them.”

James opened the box, to see a large watch and a small plastic casing which contained the contact lenses. He had already been given his standard issue weapons the previous day, the coded palm print recognition gun becoming standard issue soon after the Skyfall incident.

“So no exploding pen?”

Q gave James a serious look.

“No, 007,” Q remarked, “you would only destroy the office using it,”

James smiled, shutting the lid of the box with a firm _snap._

“You’ll tell me one day,” James hinted, tucking the envelope under his arm and picking up the box, “I’ll see you in a few month Q. Try not to break the internet in my absence,”

“Try not to start a war, 007,” Q rolled his eyes at the agent, “and we’ll see about saving the internet.”

x-x-x

It wasn’t claustrophobia, of that James was certain. He had been stuck in the small cellar room which had doubled up as his intelligence outpost for a good few hours. Anyone with claustrophobia wouldn’t be so blasé about his position.

“They should be gone,” Q said down the headset, “it’s your own fault you put yourself in small dark spaces you know,”

“Why don’t you come down here and join me?” James remarked, shuffling in the small space.

“Is that a proposal?”

“It’s five star dining down here,” James commented, glaring at the small space. He could hear the shouts of the men outside who were currently wrecking what had been James’ bedroom. It was only his quick reactions that forced him to dive for this cover spot behind the false wall that had saved his skin.

Suddenly, the shouts became even more confused and angry. Q chuckled down the comms at James.

“Sprinklers?” James asked.

“Whenever the go near something connected to electricity,” Q replied, “it’s goes off. They probably think the room is haunted.

“You’re supposed to be getting me _out_ of here,” James snarled as he tried to shift his body in the small space to allow him to get a clear shot of the door, “not having fun.”

“Oh, let a man indulge once in a while,” Q replied, “I’ll get you out of there, don’t you worry, 007,”

x-x-x

It wasn’t heights that Q was afraid of either, James thought, as Q peered down the large staircase in MI6 as they both waited to be summoned into M’s office. Someone with a fear of heights would be gripping the handrail in terror, not merrily leaning over the edge thinking where the best place to place explosives would be.

“I thought you just did technology,” James remarked, “not explosives,”

Q looked over the rim of his glasses at James.

“How do you think I would have been able to make your exploding pen without previous knowledge of explosives, 007?” he asked.

“You never said you would make me an explosive pen,” James remarked.

“If you bring me back my equipment in once piece for once, I might just.”

x-x-x

“Paris?” James asked.

“No,” Q replied, his fingers flying over the keyboard. James waved the travel guide in front of Q’s face. However, the other man didn’t seem to notice the obstruction at all, as his fingers kept tapping away continuously at the keyboard.

“Rome?”

“No,”

Ever since Q had mentioned he had never been abroad, James was determined to use _some_ of his annual leave to take his partner somewhere _nice_ for Valentine’s Day.

“Why don’t you want to go abroad?” James asked.

Q paused in his typing and looked at James apologetically.

“I don’t want to,” Q replied, biting his lip, as he closed the laptop lid, “I’ve got to go to a meeting, 007, try not to break anything in my absence.”

James was tempted to block Q from leaving until he told him just _why_ he couldn’t go abroad, but he didn’t. They both had their secrets, and it would take time for the truth to come out.

“Can I look?” James asked. Q stopped in the doorway, pausing to look at James. He gave one short, sharp nod, and then dived off down the corridor.

 _Right then,_ James thought, scanning around Q’s office for any clues. Q knew what he meant, and he had given him permission to look for his secret.

After all, it wouldn’t be much of a secret if James didn’t have to work for it.

x-x-x

“So are you human?” James questioned.

It hadn’t taken him long to find out the truth. The uniformity of his birth certificate, adoption at a young age, and mysterious acceleration through the education system had all pointed him at a scientific company in Liverpool.

One night’s rummaging through their files had given James enough information. _Project Athena,_ named after the Greek goddess of wisdom, had been created to try and clone a super-intelligent being and so fix the precise DNA chains that were linked to intelligence. Most of the report had been blanked out, but it had been the small annotation at the bottom of one of the pages which had piqued James’ interest.

_Sorry, Apollo._

Q’s birth certificate (the original one, not the fake one planted by MI6 at the beginning of his tenureship) had recorded his father’s name a _Brian._

A few google searches and one unauthorised trip to the British Library later, James had confirmed that one of Apollo’s children had been Branchus, and he was sure that MI6 would have simply substituted a similar sounding modern name as per their protocol. It was easier to remember a false identity that way, if your name was similar sounding phonetically to your own name.

“Yes,” Q sighed, leaning back on the sofa, “I’m not an alien,”

“Just checking,” James smiled, sitting down next to Q, throwing his arm around the other man.

“So you don’t care then?” Q asked.

“I suppose it’s just like having an identical twin,” James commented.

“Apart from I’m smarter,”

James rolled his eyes at Q.

“Just because you’re a science experiment gone right doesn’t mean you get to be smug,”

“Like you are any different,” Q commented. James smiled at his partner, eyes lighting up as an idea formed in his mind.

“What?” Q asked.

“I’ve just thought of a way you can go abroad,” James supplied.

“I’m not allowed,” Q commented.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” James replied.


	53. Awake My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where every human has a Soulmate, Q doesn't expect to find his in the form of a gruff 00 agent who can't appreciate art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted 'I'd like to prompt some magic!realism 00Q please. In the moment their fingers touched at the museum they realised that they are soulmates.' Hope you like it!
> 
> Title taken from the Mumford and Sons song of the same name.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

_Soulmates,_ Q thought, shuffling out of the coffee shop with his mug of tea firmly in his hand, _are just stupid things._

It was a simple fact of life, that every person had another who shared the other half of themselves, a Soulmate. It was more than merely liking someone, or even loving them. Soulmates were bonded to one another by magics that science still had to explain. There were always reports on the news of Soulmates who found each other in the most unexpected of places, from passing money over the counter at a shop to the couple who had found one another on a cruise round the Mediterranean.

He had long given up on finding his Soulmate. His family kept reminding him that _one day_ he would find his Soulmate. Q hated the pitying look in their eyes as he explained once again that _no_ he had not found his Soulmate, and _yes_ his job suited him perfectly fine that you (they thought he worked in the tech department of a small company as opposed to MI6), and _no_ he was not lonely.

Because like he was going to fucking tell his _family_ of all people what he was feeling. They were a bunch of unfeeling, cold, monsters. It would be a small game he played with himself, which one of the family members will irritate you first?

It was a boring game. And it was always won by Auntie Irene, who was the most insufferable woman on earth.

Q took another sip of his tea. It was too early for him to be contemplating his life choices. The box he was going to give to 007 weighed heavily in his jacket pocket, as he set off towards the National Gallery. 007 had a more or less legendary status surrounding him, and even Q felt a small childish glee as he entered Trafalgar square. Lord Nelson looked down from his column, as if judging Q’s thoughts with his one stony eye from his pedestal.

“Sod off,” Q muttered, taking the steps up towards the gallery two at a time.

He never did like old Navy Commanders.

x-x-x

Q slid next to 007. He looked like an agent, the heavy set build of a man who was built and bred for muscle alone. Yet his slumped form, which would have fooled the unobservant eye, hid a man who could move faster than a viper if needed.

Q had read his file. He knew what to expect of 007.

Which is why he went for the artists critique, there was nothing quite like knowing a person when you entered a battle of intellects with him.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy,” Q whispered, looking at the painting opposite them, his eyes flicking momentarily towards the unflinching form of 007, “a grand old warship being hauled away for scrap.”

Q paused, his mouth quirking up in a smile as the sentence formed in his mind. Oh it was _so_ close to the bone, what with 007’s age, but Q could never resist the temptation for a well placed jibe.

“The inevitability of time don’t you think?” Q asked, leaving a few beats between his words, “What do you see?”

007 would evaluate him as one of the geeky art types, a nobody. Oh how fun it would be to totally reverse his expectations.

“A bloody big ship,” 007 replied, in his well-reported no-nonsense manner as he stood up, “excuse me.”

Q swore inwardly. _Well done,_ he thought to himself, _just go and insult your agent before you’ve even made it to an anniversary of holding the position of Q._

_“_ 007,” Q whispered, inwardly cursing his own stupidity. He wasn’t supposed to refer to 007’s code outside MI6, _especially_ not in a public gallery.

_Fuck it,_ Q thought, as he introduced himself, “I’m your new quartermaster.”

James slid back down onto his seat, blue eyes flicking towards Q.

“You must be joking,” he huffed.

“Why because I’m not wearing a labcoat?” Q questioned.

“No because you still have spots,” 007 retorted.

A 00 with a sense of humour, albeit a twisted one? It was almost unheard of.

“My complexion is hardly relevant,” Q replied.

“Your competence is,”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency,”

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation,”

Ouch. _Fair point, thought,_ Q thought. If he was going to keep making comments about 007’s age, he was sure to get some in return.

“I hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my cup of earl grey than you can do a year in the field,” Q knew it was a low blow, considering 007’s track record of successful assignments. But he _had_ insinuated that Q as a specky tech boy, and that _hurt._

“So why do you need me?” 007’s words sounded resigned, as if he had been punched in the gut.

Maybe a bit too far.

“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled,” Q said. It was an olive branch, an apology of sorts.

“Or not pulled,” 007 said, turning to hit Q with the full force of his intensive stare, “it’s hard to know which in your pyjamas.”

Q held out his hand towards 007. The agent grasped it firmly.

“Q,” 007 said with a respectful tone in his voice.

“007,” Q replied.

Then it happened.

x-x-x

Of _all_ the times and of _all_ the people it had to be, Q swore at any sort of deity which might exist in the universe  asking _why, why, why did you chose 007 for me?_

Q’s fingers flew over the laptop as James navigated the underground rail network.

“Service door, on your left,”

Q could hear James kick the aforementioned door. A spike of irritation came through the bond. Q smirked.

“It won’t open,”

“Of course it will, put your back into it,” Q quipped back, tapping on the keyboard to bring up the train timetables-

“James,” Q said.

“I know,” James replied. Q could hear the roar of the train down the comms in time with the small red dot that moved its way towards the flashing dot on the map that represented James.”

Gunshots.

The roar of the train was deafening.

“James?” Q asked.

“I’m through,”

“See,” Q said, relief flooding through him, “I told you it would work,”

“You were worried,” James quipped back, “admit it.”

“If you die I wouldn’t get my equipment back,” Q said.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” James said. A flitter of amusement rose in the back of Q’s head from the ball of emotions that belonged to James.

“Well,” Q said, recovering quickly from the empty silence down the comm, “as your _Soulmate,_ I demand you bring my equipment back in once piece.”

“You say it with such despair,” James remarked lightly.

“Of course,” Q joked, “what else am I supposed to feel?”

“Currently?” James said, “wry amusement,”

“Using the Bond is cheating,” Q remarked, “Mr ‘Concerned.”

“I’m not concerned,” James piqued back.

“Liar,” Q remarked, “now go get Silva, 007. Please don’t get killed.”

“I’ll try,” James replied.

“If you bring back my equipment in one piece,” Q said, “I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“Is that a date?”

“It’s blackmail,”

“I’ll try look after your equipment then,” 007 replied, “I can’t turn down an offer like _that.”_


	54. You Look Dashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q can't tie ties and James promises not to shoot people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kelli who prompted me with '00Q and Bow Ties'. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Ties,” Q commented as he tried to do up the knot on the tie James had lent him, “are useless,”

“They are not,” James said, leaning over Q and tying the knot in Q’s tie.

They were standing in the large bathroom of a room that Q dared not dream what was the price per night. Most of the small toiletries that had been left by the hotel were still piled neatly on top of the towels, although Q planned to take them before they left.

After all, it was an all inclusive room.

“They are,” Q said, leaning back into James, “I can’t breathe properly, and I look stupid,”

“You look dashing,” James said, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s forehead.

“Not as dashing as you,” Q replied. He felt awkward in his suit, even though it was well fitted. The man staring back at him in the mirror was alien to him, all prim and proper. His hair could not be tamed at all, it refused to stay flat however hard James had tried to tame it.

“You’re just saying that to woo me,” James said, smiling at Q in the mirror, “you’ll be fantastic tonight,”

“I have to _speak._ To _important people,”_  Q protested, leaning into James’ embrace.

“I’ll shoot any of them who aren’t listening,”

“James,” Q said, twisting in the small space between James and the marble bathroom counter top, “shooting people is _out of the question.”_

“Not if they interrupt you,” James said, dipping his head to press a kiss to Q’s lips. Q pulled back from James’ advance, smiling at the confusion which flittered across his eyes.

“No shooting,”

“Promise,” James replied, hand snaking behind Q’s head to kiss him properly.


	55. 3 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets called into Q-branch at a god-forsaken time in the morning and forgets to get properly dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted "Something unexpected happens at a ridiculous time of night and Q does, in fact, come to work in his pyjamas. With bed-hair." I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Q,”

Q looked up from his laptop with bleary eyes. He knew he looked a mess, but it was an emergency and it wasn’t every day the CIA called and asked for help and _by god_ was he not going to let those irritating Americans show him up. He had been _dying_ for a moment to show to the blustering fools who had shunned him on their last visit how good he actually was.

He just wished that moment wasn’t at 3am on a Sunday morning.

“What, 007,” Q knew he sounded irritable. He _was_ irritable, he would like to find one human being on the planet who enjoyed being woken up five hours earlier than usual because some American idiot had cocked up something.

And yes, he knew official policy guidelines stated he _shouldn’t_ call all Americans in the CIA idiots, and some of them were probably lovely.

“You’re still in your pyjamas,” 007 commented, placing the cup of tea in front of Q.

“So?”

“Why are you not dressed?”

“I didn’t have time,”

007 stared at him. Q slurped his tea loudly, shutting his eyes to enjoy the sensation as the caffeine entered his system.

“You didn’t have time?” James asked.

“Nope,”

“What did the taxi driver say?”

“He thought I was ‘one of those students on a night out’,”

“For once your spotty complexion comes in handy,” James smiled. Q frowned. He was no in the mood for jibes, his brain was far too asleep and all functioning process were either being used enjoying the tea in his hand or working out what the American Idiot in the CIA had screwed up.

“I do not have spots,”

“Metaphorically,”

“I’m not even going to try and reply with a comment,” Q paused in his typing and glanced back up at James, “why are you here at 3am?”

“You’re only asking me that now?”

“Yes,”

“I just got home from a mission,”

“Your flight landed at eleven,”

“I got stuck in traffic,”

“At eleven?” Q raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his tea. For once, James had made some _good_ tea.

God he needed sleep.

“Do I have to justify my movements?” James asked.

“To me? As your Quartermaster? Yes, yes you do,”

“Why is your hair so messy?”

“That’s avoiding my original, original question, as to _what are you doing here at 3 am?”_ Q pressed.

“Seriously, I didn’t think it could _get_ any more messy,”

“Ha, ha,” Q remarked, tapping the enter key with a note of finality and closing his laptop. He beamed up at James with more vigour than his more-rested self, “I have now saved the world-”

“- no you haven’t” interjected James.

“And am going to sleep. _Now,”_ Q said, heading towards his office. It had a sofa, which whilst it wouldn’t make the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, Q’s brain was too tired to care.

“You’re sleeping here?” James asked.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Q said.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have said that.

“My place is closer than yours,”

“People will talk,” Q slurred. He really did need sleep.

“Come on,” James said, planting his hands firmly on Q’s shoulders, “you need some proper sleep.”

“Q-branch will _never_ hear the end of this,”

“Do you always act drunk when sleepy?”

“You should know,” Q remarked, “I didn’t get any sleep _last_ time.”


	56. You took your time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were days when James considered that the day wasn't going so well for him. Being caught by Scotland Yard and Sherlock Holmes was certainly one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Chibura who prompted me with 'bondlock, Q showed up at Scotland Yard to save his agent 007 from a crime that someone had framed him. Sherlock figured it out but people do not believe him until the intervention of a certain Quartermaster.' I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

James looked up at the tall, pale man with a dead gaze. He was losing time over the _real_ bastard who had set him up. The git had gone the whole nine yards as well, with fake fingerprints and DNA results.

James made a fist, straining against the handcuffs, trying not to lose his control.

“You were set up,” the tall man said, sitting in the seat opposite James.

“He was?” the police officer standing in the door commented, “how do you know that Sherlock?”

“The prints were too clean, Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, “it wasn’t him.”

“And the blood?” Lestrade pressed. James rolled his eyes. Hopefully Q would hack into the police systems and set off the fire alarm or something so he could stage an escape. He had let off the radio signal in his watch a good half an hour ago.

“Too precise,” Sherlock waved his hand absently, before turning back to look at James.

“But the real question is,” James forced himself to keep the other mans gaze. It felt strangely similar to the same look Q gave him when James forgot to bring back his equipment in one piece.

“Oi! You’re not allowed through there!”

“Get back!”

Lestrade poked his head out of the room. Sherlock sighed dramatically, before standing up with a dramatic flair that should belong to someone in the movies.

“Excuse me!” Lestrade cried, leaving the doorway as the commotion grew louder. James tried to peer around the corner, but his arms were locked in place by the handcuffs. Sherlock tapped his foot irritably.

“Finally,” Q appeared in the doorway, followed very quickly by a rather frustrated looking Lestrade.

“You took your time,” James muttered, “I asked for your help a good half an hour ago,”

“I had to get across London during the rush hour,” Q muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets, “what do you expect?”

“Would you like to explain,” Sherlock said, “just what you are doing here?”

“He’s not the one you’re looking for,” Q said.

Sherlock huffed irritably.

“I know _that,_ brother,” Sherlock commented.

“Brother?” James spluttered.

“Oh god help me,” Lestrade said, putting his face in his hand, “there are _three_ of you?”

“You need this,” Q said, taking out a small memory card from his pocket and handing over to Sherlock.

“I don’t need your help,”

“They do,” Q replied, nodding towards Lestrade who was looking between the two brothers with a look of resignation on his face. James rattled the handcuffs against the chair, stopping Sherlock from retorting back to Q.

“Care to let me out now?” James said, smiling at the brothers.

“Please, you undid those handcuffs when I walked in,” Sherlock commented, turning to Q, “you should really take more care of your boyfriend, Nick.”

“Nick?” James raised his eyebrow at Q as he shook of the handcuffs and placed them on the table.

“I go by Q,” Q remarked shortly.

“You and Mycroft can have your games of intrigue,” Sherlock huffed, “but you’re still my little brother,”

“Can we sort out the family differences some other time?” James asked, standing up and walking over to Q, his back to Sherlock.

“How long do I have?” James said.

“He’s got a lead,” Q said, handing James his gun and keys to his car that the police had taken off him when they had arrested him, “car’s outside, the Branch will give you green lights.”

“Don’t take the route by Oxford Circus,” Sherlock commented, sounding irritated, “you wouldn’t want to get stuck going after your terrorist.”

“Thank you darling,” James said, ignoring Sherlock as he pecked Q on the cheek, before pushing past Lestrade and running out of the station.

“Will someone _please_ explain to me what is going on?” Lestrade cried in frustration.

James simply smiled.


	57. Home it is then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is the only one working in Q Branch when James calls him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who prompted: 'James is bored during a mission, and Q is the only one working late in Q Branch.' I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q’s screen flashed in front of him, a pulsating red colour that illuminated his office like he was in a horror movie. He left if for a moment, putting down his screwdriver and the phone he was fiddling with, before hitting the _accept_ button.

“You’re supposed to be doing surveillance, 007.”

“I am,” James’ gruff voice replied, “but there is nothing _to_ survey.”

“Look harder,”

“Why don’t you come over here and take a look?”

“I am _not_ flying half way over the world to help you with your job,” Q huffed, picking up the screwdriver and twirling it between his fingers.

“Why are you at work so late?” James asked. Q subconsciously checked the scrambler program was on so no one else could piggy back their conversation. He would hate to be the cause for James being discovered.

“I’ve got work to do,” Q could imagine the glare James was giving to the small black encrypted that allowed him to call the outside world whilst in the middle of the Congo.

“Like what?” James asked.

“Work,” Q repeated.

“You were waiting for my call, weren’t you?” James said.

Q scowled at the small blinking red dot which represented James. He would have to make some sort of device to transmit facial gestures when virtual face-to-face conversations were not possible.

“I called home first,” James said in Q’s silence.

“God, now Rufus is going to be going berserk,” Q sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He’s a dog,” James replied, “he’ll be fine.”

“You trained him to go berserk when someone called,” Q said.

“It’s for your own safety,” James replied, trying to sound innocent.

“Rufus is not going to stop anyone getting into the flat,” Q remarked, “he’s a _puppy.”_

“He’ll get bigger,”

“In a few _years_ or so,”

“He’s already two,”

“That’s still a puppy in dog-years,” Q remarked, “the vet said so.”

“Go home, Q,”

“I’m fine,”

“You’re tired, I can hear it in your voice.”

Q shot another glare at his computer, stifling a yawn.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” James said, “go home, dear,”

“Call me dear and I’ll rig your gun to electrocute you,”

“Love you too, now please go home.”

“You phoned home before just to annoy Rufus didn’t you?” Q questioned, “you knew I would be here.”

“I wouldn’t be a 00 otherwise,” James replied, “now _go.”_

“Going, going,” Q remarked, “love you too,”

“See you in a month, love,”

“You know I hate endearments,” Q muttered.”

“If you don’t go home I’ll make more up,” James remarked.

“What a threat,” Q commented, “talk soon, _darling.”_

“Talk soon, _dear,_ ”

The call disconnected.

Q tapped a few buttons on his keyboard to open up the home security network he had set up at home. Flicking through the CCTV cameras, sure enough Rufus was sitting, staring up at the camera, wagging his tail just like James had taught him.

 _Home it is then,_ Q thought.


	58. For Old Time's Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every once in a while, Q has dinner with Jim Moriarty to get information. James doesn't like it one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me: 'If so please may I have something where Q is involved with Jim.' I may have wandered off prompt a little, but I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or Sherlock, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Shit,”

Q’s fingers dashed over the keyboard, his forehead creasing in worry. The rest of Q branch paused, fingers hovering over their keyboards as they looked towards their boss in trepidation. Q growled in fury as he continued typing, ignoring the strange looks he got from the rest of the room.

The code kept appearing on the screen, the program developing on his screen. Q grit his teeth as he pulled out his mobile and pressed the third number on the speed dial.

The call was picked up immediately,

“Hello, _darling,”_ the voice said.

“Quit with the hack,” Q sighed, waving the rest of Q-branch to get back to work as he stalked into his office, and closed the door firmly, “you could have just called.”

“But that wouldn’t be _fun,”_ Jim drawled, “and it would be so _normal,”_

 _“_ Not at work,” Q sighed.

“But it didn’t hurt you,” Jim said. “dinner, eight on Friday.”

“Why?” Q asked. There was no bother trying to  stop Jim, what Jim wanted would be what Jim got.

After all, that was why Q had left the bastard.

“Old time sake,” Jim said.

“Fine,” Q rolled his eyes, “you’re paying this time.”

“See you _darling,”_ Jim said.

x-x-x

“You’re not going to meet him,” James said, grabbing Q’s arm as he was just about to leave their flat.

“I’ll be fine,” Q said, taking James’ hand off his arm, “he can’t touch me.”

James glared at him.

“He might be a terrorist,” Q said, “but he is useful.”

“Useful?” James raised his eyebrow.

“You keep in contract with Moran,” Q replied, “when he’s useful, Jim gets me access into places I couldn’t,”

“And what do you give in return?” James replied.

“Lunch, every once in a while,” Q said, pulling his jacket from the peg and shrugging it on, “I’ll be _fine_ , James.”

“If he kills you,” James started. Q pressed a finger to his lips.

“He wouldn’t get close,” Q said, leaning in to press a kiss on James’ lips and snagging the house keys from the table next to the door, “don’t wait up for me.”

“I won’t,” James replied.


	59. One Time Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a one-time affair.
> 
> James knew this. Q knew this. They were both consenting adults, who knew that it was just a one night, no strings attached, fling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For chibura who prompted me Bondlock: Bond slept with Q once but he brushes it off as a one-night-stand. One day, he notices Q gets a new partner at work. That one seems to understand Q so well and they are intelligence equal. Actually that is Sherlock, Q's brother but no one knows that, even M. Mycroft put Sherlock there to work as Q's assistant. I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own neither James Bond or Sherlock, this is written for fun and not for profit

“Who’s that?” James asked one of the Q branch ‘minions’. She was a pretty girl, James was almost certain that her name was Jane, or Mary.

“John,” Jane/Mary replied, giving a stern glare to James over the top of her fashionable glasses, “Q’s new assistant.”

“What are you giving me that look for?” James asked, slipping his best seductive smile on his face. Jane/Mary continued to glare.

“Did you bring back his equipment back?” she asked.

James frowned slightly.

“Go over quickly,” Jane/Mary said, “don’t piss him off too much or he won’t come to the Q branch drinks later,”

“You guys go outside?” James joked, giving Jane/Mary a wink as he walked over towards Q trying to think up the best reason as to why his new phone was in the bottom of the Red Sea.

x-x-x

It had been a one-time affair.

James knew this. Q knew this. They were both consenting adults, who knew that it was just a one night, no strings attached, _fling._ It was a method which kept James sane during the deep cover missions, a method he had slowly taken into his normal life.

Well, his life as James.

The interesting aspect of the job, if there was such a thing, was the way his life could be neatly packaged into different areas. There was his work-persona, which he used when dealing with M, Eve, and the rest of the MI6 office workers. There was his _cover_ , an identity which slowly fragmented into parts of his actual being even after his op had finished. His habit of fiddling with the cufflinks on his sleeve when waiting at a bar had come from one of his early ops as a man called _Arthur Faw._ He would use a mix between his _cover_ and _work_ personas when screwing on a mission. It was intimate enough that the other would not notice it, but impersonal enough that James wasn’t damaged with each encounter.

Much.

The problem with Q was that he was _different._ He wasn’t part of a mission, he was his goddam _Quatermaster._ However, there was something in the quick witted phrases and delicate frame that just drew James like a moth to a flame.

After months of dancing around one another, James had finally made the first move. And good _god_ had it been worthwhile, Q had far surpassed any expectation James had held.

But then afterwards, in the dark inky nights alone, James had thought back to that night. He wanted to attach strings to Q _so damn hard_ but he couldn’t. They said they wouldn’t.

And now James had to watch some other man give sly smiles and dark glances to Q.

It killed him.

x-x-x

“What seems to be your problem, 007?”

“Excuse me?” James turned to face John, Q’s new assistant. The man was tall enough to look James dead in the eye, with sharp cheekbones and a mop of black hair that curled around his face. James’ toes curled in his shoes as he fought back a sharp retort, eyes darting around the empty kitchen in Q branch. Having a few days leave meant he became restless without something to do, and looking for Q seemed just as good entertainment as any.

“You don’t have a mission,” John said, “so you shouldn’t be down here?”

“Is there a law against it?”

“I highly doubt that the legal system has anything to do with why you continually walk-”

“Cut it, John,” Q remarked, pushing past James to get into the kitchen, “how come you’re down here James?”

“I was just-” John started before Q kicked him in the shin. The man barely batted an eyelid, not taking his gaze of James.

“Sorry,” James said flatly, “I’ve got to go.”

Dammit, he would leave the two of them to it. His job was hard enough as it was without adding additional levels of stress onto it.

x-x-x

_“Hello?”_

James left the phone, glaring at the small flashing red button on the dial. It was Q, again, trying to call James after he had left the branch the three days ago. He hadn’t returned since.

“ _Look,”_ Q started, _“I know you’re there. I know what you think.”_

James huffed, taking a swig of his drink. The alcohol burnt his throat, bringing him back to reality.

“ _I’m not dating him,”_ Q said, _“I know what it looks like but I’m not,”_

James picked up the phone, alcohol burning through the system.

“Then what was it then?” he asked.

Q paused on the other end of the line.

“My brother,” he whispered “he is my brother.”

“Your _what?”_ James asked.

“Brother,” Q repeated, “John - Sherlock - is my _brother.”_

“Brother?” James asked.

“Yes,” Q said, “now will you stop sulking and let me in?”

“Let you-” James started, just as the doorbell rang, and Q’s voice came from the door.

“LET ME IN YOU IDIOT,”

James hung up the phone.


	60. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q had never been Outside. He was a mere design-bot, supposed to stay on the same floor of the warehouse.
> 
> But then he met James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For sassygayq who prompted me: Q and Bond are both robots working in the same factory and, without knowing, fall in love. Happy ending please :3. I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“What is your name?”

Q turned slowly. There were never any new bots on the assembly floor, never at this time of night. Q might be one of the design bots, but he knew his way around the floor and every person who was supposed to be on it.

“AI-Unit-Q,” Q replied, looking at the other bot. Like himself, the other bot had human-like skin around his face, but from his neck down his body was built from transparent plastic which was clothed in a cheap suit. Humans like to have their AI units similar enough to them to prevent them being unnerving to customers, but not human enough to be considered equal.

“You must be the new Security-Bot,” Q remarked, noting the wide shoulders and build of the robot. Cogs and gears whirred inside the other bot’s neck, which to other bots would not be noticeable. However, Q was a tech-bot, with superior sight and touch senses to enable him to create the small component parts on the production line.

“Bot-007,” the other robot replied holding out his wrist where his memory chip was located. Q swiped his own wrist over the other bot’s sending out the greeting signal between the two components. Originally, the humans had designed the chip to allow bots to shake hands like they did, but the Original bots had created their own greeting of communication. It differentiated them from their human counterparts, giving them their own unique society which was not manufactured or controlled by the humans.

The greeting chip flashed the name _James_ in front of Q’s visual sensors. Q smiled at James, it was good to have a new face around the warehouse.

After all, as a design bot, he was never allowed outside. Q had never seen the outside world, apart from the few pictures he had seen which had slipped through the main Server, M, to the bots on the design floor.

“What are you doing down here?” Q asked, fiddling with the edge of his jumper. It was made from a cheap plastic material, woven to look like clothes. Humans would never give the Bots clothing better than their own.

“Doing my rounds, as humans would say,” James tilted his head slightly, “care to join me?”

“I have to be back to my Charging Point by midnight,” Q pursed his lips apologetically, “I’m only at 20%.”

“Best walk slowly then,” James replied.

x-x-x

It became a tradition between them to walk around the design floor late at night.

James, being a security bot, was one of the few who were allowed Outside. Q would constantly ask him questions about what it looked like, _really._

James would tell him about the beauty of the sunrise, how the colour of the sky would change with each passing minute as it rose above the horizon. He described the change of seasons from winter to spring to summer to autumn and back to winter again. Q decided he quite liked the sound of Autumn, as James said there were hundreds of different reds and oranges and browns which covered the ground.

It was certainly not because James said he liked Autumn as well.

They wove the same path through the bottom of the floor until James would have to leave Q at the bottom of the stairs which led Outside. It was the saddest part of Q’s evening, if bots could even feel sadness. He had been programmed to not have emotion, but the problem Humans failed to appreciate about Intelligent Programming was that it developed as it experienced new things.

So when Q waved to James’ back, feeling like the cogs and gears inside him had been mangled up by a loose wire, his programming learnt sadness.

Learning one emotion was the step to learning many more.

x-x-x

“Come on,” James whispered to Q, as they stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Outside. Q looked at James in trepidation, code flashing across his eyes as his basic programming security fought against his thoughts. He wasn’t _supposed_ to go Outside, but he _wanted to._

He wanted to because James said he should. And whilst Q was no Emotion-Bot, he was sure that he was in love with the other bot.

“Come on,” James smiled, taking Q’s hand within his own. Q could feel his code running faster at James’ touch, like his processing systems were trying to fire all at once.

“Okay,” Q replied, firmly grasping James’ hand. He trusted the other Bot, and the other Bot clearly trusted him. If either of them were found out, the could both be sent to the Processing plant to be resent back to factory settings.

Q walked up the steps next to James, visual sensors pick up all of the new details he hadn’t been able to see before. Objects a long way away were blurrier, and he hadn’t seen this part of the stairs before.

They were soon at the top of the stairs. James held his hand on the door turning back towards Q.

“Ready?” he asked, tugging Q closer to him. Q could hear James’ cogs turning inside his head, the small whirr of life that indicated another Bot. He had never been this close to another bot before, and certainly not one which made him feel like his hardwire was glitching.

“Ready,” Q replied, placing his hand over James’ own.

They twisted the door-handle together, opening up the door. Light streamed in, bathing Q in a warm that was both alien and beautiful at the same time.

And for the first time in his existence, Q stepped Outside.


	61. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tries to guess Q's name and completely fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For silhouetteofagirl who prompted 'one of the other double-os knows Q's name for some accidental reason. Q accidentally mentions this after Bond has been asking his name ("it was bad enough when 001 found out"). As a result, 001 starts calling Q a different name every time they see him and Bond gets very confused.' I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“John?”

“No,” Q took a sip of his tea, looking over the rim of the mug at 007 who was casually leaning against the doorframe.

“Ben?”

“No,”

“Mark,”

“No,”

“Fred,”

“Look,” Q said, “you won’t guess it.”

“Quentin?”

Q sighed, putting his mug on the side. It had been a long day, and he was rather looking forward to going home and having a nice long bath without being interrupted for a good few hours.

“Quinn?”

“What?” Q gave an aghast look to 007, “who the hell do you think my parents _were?”_

“If they named you Quinn, awful,” 007 replied.

“My name isn’t Quinn,” Q said, “it was bad enough when 001 found out.”

“What?”

_Shit,_ Q thought. 007 was like a dog digging for a bone and he would _not_ be put off once he caught a scent.

“Go ask her,” Q said, waving his hand, “I’ve got work to do.”

x-x-x

“What is it?” James asked 001 as he passed her on the landing outside M’s office. She had just got back from an assignment in the Middle East, her olive skin glowing with the effects of being in a humid country for a few months.

“That’s your best shot?” 001 replied, raising a delicately plucked eyebrow. Her sharp black bob of hair made her look even more serious. She was a lethal agent, brought into the 00 unit from MI6’s special operations team.

“I thought it best to ask first,” James replied, “be polite.”

001 smiled at James, patting him on the shoulder. With her heels, she was just shy of looking James dead in the eye.

“Nice try,” 001 said, “you’re going to have to put in some legwork.”

x-x-x

“Gerard,”

“007,” Q said, looking at the remains of one of the many pieces of equipment he had sent out with James on his mission a week ago, “you cannot just keep saying random names in the hopes you will strike gold.”

“So why was 001 calling you _Tony_ when I last saw here down here?” James asked, picking up one of the pieces of his ruined computer, from the size Q thought it was the remains of a transistor.

“Popular culture reference,” Q replied, taking the remains of the transistor from James and placing it back on the table.

“But why did you call her _Steve?”_ James pushed, “her real name is-”

“Try not to spill the state secrets,” Q remarked dryly, “you might be blasé with your name but I couldn’t deal with another information leak. I had a headache for weeks after the last one.”

“Nick?” James said, “you look like a Fred,”

“I am _not_ called Nick,” Q said sharply, “now you’re wanted by psyc, please don’t annoy them like last time.”

“I’ll be good,” James said, winking at Q. Q rolled his eyes as the insufferable 00 sauntered out of Q branch, leaving him to deal with trying to salvage information from the ruined laptop.

x-x-x

“It’s been _six months,”_ James complained, shuffling the pillows behind his head to sit himself upright in the bed, _“_ since I started dating you. Please can you just tell me.”

“You’ll make fun of me,” Q smirked against James’ chest, “no.”

“Come _on,_ I can’t keep calling you Q forever.”

Silence descended over the bedroom.

“James,”

“What?” James said.

“No,” Q said, “my name is James.”

“You’re kidding,” James replied, looking down at Q.

“Do I look like I’m kidding,” Q remarked seriously, looking back up at James.

“You don’t look like a James,” James replied, sliding his arm around Q.

“Which is why you would call me Q anyway,” Q replied, “you happy now?”

“Certainly,” James replied, “James.”

“Call me that and your next gun with be pink. With bows.”


	62. I can't hear you (but I still feel the same)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q uses the mute button on the Comms to declare his love for James. Too bad he forgot to make sure it was engaged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the anon who prompted 'Q is in love with Bond and keeps telling him via the ear piece - but only when it's switched to mute, thinking Bond wouldn't feel the same (though he does!!). Too bad (good I mean) he forgot the mute button this time over all his worry about Bond.' I hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Thanks, Q,” James said. Q smiled at the flashing dot on the computer screen, hitting the mute button on the computer. He bit his lip, trying to keep back the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth.

_Not now, Q, not now._

He pressed the _end call_ button on the screen, just to be safe.

“Love you, James,” Q whispered.

x-x-x

“Got two coming in through the window,” Q remarked. The tinkering of glass came down the comms, followed by a flurry of punching sounds and grunts.

“Thanks, Q,” James remarked gruffly, “where’s the disk?”

“Top floor,” Q said, leaning back in his chair. This assignment had gone reasonably well, James hadn’t misused his licence to kill _or_ slept with half of the female staff at the hotel he was staying in.

“Why do they keep the disks on the top floor?” James mumbled.

“They want to give you exercise,” Q remarked back, picking up his half-eaten lunch, a chicken salad from M&S, and digging into it.

“What are you eating?” James asked.

“Lunch,” Q replied.

“I thought you guys never ate,”

“How else do you think we stay alive?” Q munched on a crunchy piece of lettuce. Eve was forcing him to go on a diet, or at least try and make him _more_ healthy when he was ‘angsting’ about James on a mission.

“What are you eating?” James asked. Q could hear James’ feet taking the stairs two at a time.

“Lettuce,”

“Are you a rabbit?” James asked.

“Healthy,” Q replied, taking another mouthful, “you would do some good to do the same, detox a little.”

“Detox?” James remarked. Q could hear him kick down the door to the disc room.

“Top filing cabinet,” Q said, “yes James a detox.”

“Got it,” James said, “I am _not_ having a detox, Q.”

“Shame,” Q remarked, “see you soon, 007.”

“Enjoy your lettuce, Q,”

Q tapped the mute button on the speakers. The call continued to be live, James had a bad habit of not ending the call at his end.

“Love you too,” Q whispered.

It was only then that he realised the mute button wasn’t _off._

x-x-x

“You free Friday?”

Q looked up from his desk to see James standing in the doorway, suit impeccable as ever.

“May I ask why, 007?” Q said.

_Please don’t let him have heard-_

“I don’t know,” James said, voice dropping in the tone Q knew he used to seduce people. He resisted the urge to fiddle with his glasses, James would pick the tell up immediately.

“Maybe because you said you loved me?” James continued.

“I did?” Q replied.

“You’re feigning,” James replied, not taking his gaze off Q.

“You’re flirting,” Q forced his breathing to be steady.

“I am,” James said, leaning closer to Q. Q did not break James’ gaze, refusing to be intimated by the agent.

“Why?” Q asked.

“Maybe because I love you back,” James whispered in reply.


	63. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the advantages of being lost on a desert island with a 00 agent was that it was certain you wouldn’t die from starvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Chibura who prompted 'Q is forced to fly to Cuba with Bond on a mission. Their plane crashes. The relationship changes into something really really deep but Q has expected that when they are rescued, Bond would just walk away.' I hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

_Screaming._

Q knew this was why he hated flying. It was a _stupid_ way to get from one place to another, going _through_ the air instead of under it. Especially when doing so in a small tin can that was only held aloft in the air by physics and a bit of magic.

_Shaking._

Q screamed, oxygen masks falling from the ceiling. They swung backwards and forwards violently as the lights of the plane began to flash on and off, on an off.

The rattling got louder, drowning out all the other noise. It drummed right through Q’s skull, _da dum da dum da dum._

Q woke up screaming.

x-x-x

One of the advantages of being lost on a desert island with a 00 agent was that it was certain you wouldn’t die from starvation.

One of the disadvantages of being the _Quartermaster_ for the 00 agent in question is that you were always told what to do.

x-x-x

“You up Q?”

Q groaned. He was not built for surviving on a desert island. He wanted the warmth of his bed, the softness of his quilts.

He wanted wifi. He wanted _technology._

“Hello?”

James head appeared in the entrance to their small ‘home’ created out of the various parts of the wreckage of the plane, a few trees and some palm leaves. Q had watched in amazement as James had just constructed a shelter, found food, and managed to gather supplies as he simply sat recovering from the trauma of _the plane crashing._

“Yes?” Q replied weakly.

“Time to get up,” James said, “can’t stay in bed.”

“The whole staying focused thing?” Q mumbled, pushing himself up from the hard bed. James insisted on them keeping a routine to stay focused. Apparently it was what one did when stranded on a desert island with no hope of rescue.

“You know,” Q mumbled, “I would have thought that being stranded was one of the _very_ reasons why I should get a lie in.”

“Come on,” James said, grabbing Q’s outstretched hand and pulling him upright, “we need more firewood. And I might have found some pieces of tech you might want to look at.”

“Oh you spoil me,” Q replied.

x-x-x

Q dropped the firewood into the small pile next to their shelter. James had already caught dinner (a type of mammal that Q hadn’t seen before but still tasted remarkably like chicken) and was prodding the fire with one of the longer sticks.

“Got it working?” James asked, nodding to the small pile of wires that lay at his feet. Q had been working on it all day, fiddling with the wires to try and coax the machine into life. It was part of a transmitter, or at least part of part of a transmitter.

“No,” Q said, sitting next to James, giving him an apologetic look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be like Tony Stark?” James asked, “building equipment in a cave in the back end of nowhere?”

“How on earth do you make my gadgets then?” James remarked, turning the spit on which the small mammal was cooking on.

“That is called engineering,”

“So was Iron Man,”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about popular culture?” Q commented dryly.

“I do have to do learn my files,” James remarked, “I had to pose as a comic book nerd.”

“And they chose you?” Q said.

“Why?”

“You don’t exactly sell _comic book geek_ to me,” Q remarked, prodding James in the arm, “you’re too well built for a start.”

James gave a sly smile, prodding the fire with the stick.

“I have my ways,” he remarked darkly.

x-x-x

One of the main problems with starting a relationship with a co-worker when stranded on a desert island was that, well, it wasn’t really a reliable cursor to identify if someone actually _liked_ you.

“Morning,” James whispered into Q’s ear. Q shifted in James’ embrace, moulding himself to the shape of the other man.

“Do we have to get up?” Q mumbled.

“Yes,” James said, “because there is someone standing outside the shelter.”

Q bolted upright, eyes widening as he saw the amused soldier standing outside their shelter. Q narrowed his eyes, trying to work out where he had seen the face before.

“Sanderson,” Q said. The soldier grinned at Q’s recognition. He was one of the Special Ops in MI6, the level below 00. Q had met the man a number of times when he had provided support to 009 in the Middle East.

“Don’t worry, Q,” Sanderson said, “I’ve seen worse.”

“You have?” Q remarked blandly.

Sanderson simply grinned.

“Choppers on the beach,” Sanderson commented, waving towards Q and James, “I’ll leave you boys to get up. Well done on your transmitter, Q.”

“If I had known you came on the rescue party I wouldn’t have bothered,” Q smiled. Sanderson was a good soldier, and even better ops agent. According to the grapevine, he was up for promotion to the 00 section soon - becoming the new 005.

Sanderson left the entrance to their small shelter, boots heavy in the sandy beach. Q rolled away from James, to look at the offending flashing transmitter that had taken him nearly two weeks to build.

“Why does it have to be a chopper?” Q grumbled to James, “why not a boat.”

“They’ll probably sedate you,” James chuckled, “it’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad you find me an endless source of amusement,” Q pressed a kiss to James’ cheek, “now we have to go home to the sunny isles of Britain.”

“Don’t sound too excited,”

x-x-x

A month after their return home, Q was certain that his and James’ relationship feel cleanly into the ‘we were trapped on a desert island with no human company and we had to stop going mad’ category.

It was just that things returned to _normal._ James didn’t act any different at work, he was his usual self full of confidence and swagger. Q still had nightmares about the plane - he was certain that he would avoid the death traps for _life_ now - but they were easing off. He had seen worse, heard worse, down the end of the comms when aiding James on a mission, a plane crash wasn’t going to destroy him totally.

Just put him on edge a little.

Q poured the boiling water from the kettle into the teacup, mashing the teabag with a teaspoon. The brown tea diffused into the water, swirling around his spoon like a mist as it coloured the water. The smell of caffeine wafted into the air, Q shut his eyes and inhaled deeply-

The doorbell rang.

Q grumbled, leaving his tea and picking up the phone.

“Who is it?”

“Who the hell else do you think it is?” James’ voice was gruff. Clearly he had been standing outside in the cold for a while.

“Of course,” Q said, “any particular reason why you’re dropping in at 1am?”

“Can I come in?” James asked.

“You didn’t answer my question,”

“Well considering you seem to be ignoring the two months we spent with each other on a bloody desert island,” James said, “I thought I should make the first move,”

Q’s jaw dropped. James didn’t like him - he had _ignored_ him for the past month and-

“Are you going to let me in then?” James asked.

Q pressed the buzzer to allow James in. 


	64. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only after Q gets hurt that James realises that he has found someone he can trust with his secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For i-ndil-cuimhne-ar-daniel who prompted Bond taking Q to Skyfall. Perhaps Bond and Q fight, because Q needs reassurance he can trust Bond; that Bond loves him, because Bond can be distant sometimes. Q storms out of their flat, and gets hurt somehow. And Bond, startled by the prospect of losing Q, takes Q to Skyfall to show him he love him and is willing to share all his secrets with him. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Why?” James shouted, ducking the cup Q threw in his direction. It smashed against the wall, scattering shards of china everywhere.

“Because you don’t trust me,” Q said, “with anything-”

“I do,”

“Ha!” barked Q, “you still don’t take down your walls around me,”

“I don’t take my walls down around _anyone,”_ James growled. It wasn’t that he didn’t _trust_ Q, but he had kept secrets for so long he couldn’t just _tell_ someone about himself.

No, that ability had been lost when he had signed up to the 00 division.

“Fine,” Q said, snatching his coat from the side, smiling at James thinly, “I’m going for a walk”

“Q-”

The door slammed loudly.

x-x-x

It wasn’t bad the doctors said, and James had seen enough wounds in his time to know just that.

It was just seeing Q laid up in hospital, wires threading all over his body. The bruises looked worse than they actually were, but it tore at James’ heart all the same.

 _I trust you Q,_ James thought, leaning against the hospital door, _I trust you._

x-x-x

“So where exactly are we going?” Q asked, shuffling in the passenger seat of the Aston. James floored the accelerator, swapping the gears down and making the engine roar.

“Home,” James replied. The hills opened up, revealing the bleak landscape of Scotland. Q had slept all night, curled around his injured arm protectively. He had been out of hospital for over a week now, his injuries healing up nicely. However, James could still see the bruise around Q’s eye from where he had taken a fist to the jaw.

James growled silently. When he was done here he would find that gang who had jumped Q and ensure that they pay for what they did.

“Home?” Q croaked sleepily, twisting to look at James, “your home?”

“Yes,” James smiled, “we’ve got about an hour to go,”

“Hour?” Q stared at James in shock, “where did you live?”

“The middle of nowhere,” James replied.

x-x-x

Q crouched on the floorboards, hand hovering over the surface. James leant against one of the many pillars throughout the house. The floor and most of the surfaces were covered in a thick layer of dust, they hadn’t been touched since James had visited when he was fresh out of Dartmouth.

“I’m sorry,” Q whispered, standing up slowly and looking at James. He tugged at his sling absent mindedly, focussing his gaze on the floor.

“It’s alright,” James said, stepping towards Q, tilting his chin up so he could look him in the eye, “you weren’t to know,”

“I shouldn’t have pried-”

“I should have trusted you,” James whispered, pulling Q into his embrace.

“I should have trusted you,” Q said, wincing, “you wouldn’t mind loosing up a bit?”

“Sorry,” James said, taking his wait off Q’s arm.

“It’s alright,” Q said, reaching up on his tiptoes and pressing a kiss to James’ lips.

 _Yeah,_ James thought to himself, _it is._


	65. What do you see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q re-visit the National Gallery on James' 70th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off Rum's amazing [picture](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/48505615252).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

James leaned on Q as they slowly ascended the steps of the National Gallery. His aged bones were not as strong as they once were, a fact which would irritate him even more if Q was not there to support him.

“Stop moaning,” Q remarked, as he held tightly onto the rail leading up the stairs. His mind had not weakened with age, if anything it had become even sharper with time.

“I’m not saying anything,” James said.

“You were thinking it,” Q remarked, smiling. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, in the way James loved so much.

“You are sure it’s still here?” James and Q paused at the top of the first set of stairs to catch his breath, leaning on one another for support. Q rolled his eyes at James leaning into his shoulder and tightening his grip on James’ arm.

“Definitely,” Q remarked, “I checked. Shall we try for the second set of stairs?”

“You make it sound like it’s a challenge,” James remarked dryly, “do I get a medal?”

“No,”

“Exploding pen,”

“I’m not the _Q_ any more,” Q remarked, “we retired ten years ago remember,”

“I know,” James said, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s silver hair, “but you will always be _my_ Q.”

“You’re still not getting an exploding pen,” Q said seriously.

“Not even for my birthday?” James said. _Technically_ this day out was his birthday present from Q, after all they didn’t get out and about as much as they had originally in their youth. Q gave him a dry look over the rim of his glasses.

“We don’t really buy in for that any more, James,”

James chuckled at the reference to their first conversation. How he ever could have thought the wonderful man before him was of all things was a mere youth in an anorak, James had no idea. Over the years he had been able to peel back the layers of Q’s personality and self, revealing far more to the other man than he had ever to anyone else.

The trust between them bound them tighter than any material known to man. It was the foundation of their relationship, why they had been able to find love within a world of secrecy and lies.

“Come on,” Q said, “we don’t want to stand outside forever,”

x-x-x

They spent many hours walking around the art gallery. James scanned the paintings with a better appreciation that he had the first time he met Q. Q whispered softly his interpretations on the art, the words adding further depths to the contrasting colours that covered each canvas.

They finally reached the room where Turner’s painting hung. The seating and lighting had changed since James had last visited, but otherwise it was exactly the same as he remembered.

“Come on,” Q said, tugging James’ by the arm to move into the room. James smiled at his other half as they slowly walked across the room, sitting down on the new seat opposite Turner’s painting. James pushed his glasses up his nose to bring the painting into focus, as he slid his fingers between Q’s. Q smiled, pulling James in close to him as he chuckled. Q smelt of cinnamon and earl grey, of comfort and love. James smiled resting his head on Q’s shoulder.

“What do you see?” James asked.

“A bloody big ship,” Q replied.


	66. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q was a Marker, one who had the ability to craft pictures and patterns in his skin. James wanted to know what the pictures represented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off Rum's amazing tattooed!Q which you can find [here](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/48849864804%0A).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit. The meanings of different symbols are from Rum and Wikipedia.

Some people were different.

Markers, they called them. Those who had the ability to change the markings on their skin to reflect what they were feeling inside. James had known a Marker once, as delightful woman who went by the name of Kelly, who had the secrets a certain organisation wanted to keep secret written over her body.

It been a bit of a surprise, to say the least, when James found out that Q was a Marker.

“So what does that one mean?” James asked, pointing to Q’s bare arm where a delicate diagram of a chip circuit was outlined. James traced over the thin black line with his finger, marvelling at Q’s ability.

“It’s my left,” Q explained, twisting into James’ embrace. The covers of James’ bed barely covered them, messed and scrunched at the bottom of the bed. James pressed a kiss on top of the design, smiling up at Q for a further explanation.

“I’m left handed,” Q said, “so having a chip on my left means my work is always near.”

“You could say ‘close at hand’,” James suggested.

“That was the pun I was going for,” Q remarked dryly.

“And the fish?” James questioned. Q’s back had an almost lifelike image of a fish on a background of purple and blue - Q’s two favourite colours. James had paid particular attention to the details of that Mark the previous evening.

“It’s a Koi for your information,” Q said, “aspiration and advancement. I Marked it when I got the job at MI6 - a symbol of perceverence to get on in the world.”

“I thought you joined just for the mystique of the secret service,”

“Espionage always holds my interest,” Q remarked, as James snaked his arms around the thinner man, “which is why I am dating you.”

“And the other arm?”

“Are you going to question _every_ one of my Marks?”

“You are a work of art and I want to _marvel,”_

“James Bond, the art critic,” Q mused, “somehow the two ideas don’t really go together,”

“Come on,” James said, pulling Q close and pressing a kiss onto his ear.

“It’s a snake and cherry blossoms, with a lotus background,” Q explained, “the lotus represents detachment and calm - an object of purity growing from muddy roots,”

From what Q had told James about his childhood, it was certainly an apt metaphor.

“The cherry blossoms are for mortality,” Q said, “they remind me that I am not as powerful as I once thought I was - I should be rooted in the knowledge that I am no better than anyone else.”

“And the snake?” James’ breath tickled Q’s skin as he whispered the question.

“I got that one for you,” Q replied, “the snake is the image of cunning and power, but also of strength and rebirth,”

“That’s me?” James asked.

“Of course,” Q replied, “you showed me what life, and love, really is.”


	67. I get a kick out of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James have a quiet night in with Sinatra and a glass of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Twilight who prompted 'Cuddles' - I think I wandered off prompt with this one but hope you still like it! :)
> 
> Thanks to Rum for the translations and Play for the dancing hints.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or Sinatra, this is written for fun and not for profit.

The voice of Frank Sinatra drifted through the flat, the music making Q sway as he walked across the room to James, two glasses of wine in his hands. James lounged on the sofa, his shirt undone at the collar and his tie discarded on the coffee table.

“Very sophisticated,” James remarked as Q handed him his glass. Q took a sip of his wine, the sharp taste biting on his tongue, as he sat down next to James, curling into the larger agent’s body.

“So this is what you do,” James asked Q, “the legendary Quatermaster of Q branch listens to Frank Sinatra and has a glass of wine?”

“Who would have thought,” Q leant into James’ shoulder, “James Bond drinking wine,”

“Touché,” James sipped his wine, “you surprise me, Q,”

“Why on earth do I do that?” Q asked, shifting his position so he could crane to look up at James.

“You chose me of all people,”

“You?”

“I’m not exactly material for a stable relationship,” James smirked and took a deep drink of his wine.

“Sinatra makes you far too melancony,” Q remarked, straightening up and putting his glass on the table, “but James don’t ever, _ever,_ think like that.”

“Why not?” James asked. Q could see a hidden pain behind his eyes, the pain his job had inflicted upon him over the years. He understood it, he watched James walk into some of the most terrifying and horrible situations and be battered about like a tennis ball at Wimbledon.

“Because,” Q said, taking James’ glass out of his hand, “it is I who am the unworthy one,”

“Q-”

“ _Hai degli occhi stupendi_ ,” Q purred, pulling James from the sofa, dragging him to the larger space between the sofa and kitchen sideboard. When Q had first brought James home, the agent had been very impressed with the sleek modern layout of his flat, and especially the tech which was wired throughout. It was a network of his own design, allowing him to control any electrical item with a few voice commands or motions.

“Lights,” Q said, and the lights dimmed slightly, only lighting up the floor space around Q and James. Sinatra continued to murmer in the background, the music seeping into Q’s bones as he swayed in time with the beat.

“You planning on making me dance?” James said, “and thank you for the complement on the eyes by the way,”

“It’s not that you’ve heard it before,” Q remarked back, pulling James in close. He tilted his head up slightly at James, smiling as they begun to dance around the room, matching the beat of the song.

“You can dance,” James said.

“I’m not just a pretty face,” Q said.

“So why do you stay with me then?” James asked, as he spun Q around. Q smiled as James wrapped his arm around his back, dipping him low to the floor, before pulling him up again. The song changed, this one with a more upbeat tempo. Q quickened his step in time with the music, James keeping up easily. It was no surprise that James was a good dancer, his broad frame would fool most into thinking that he was all brute force and not delicate at all. However, Q had watched James tiptoe silently across wooden beams hundreds of feet in the air, as well as sliding into the various high class events his targets frequented. James was just as delicate as he was forceful, in some respects he was even _more_ careful with himself because of his strength.

That was why Q liked him.

James slowed their dance down as the song changed for another time, this time a slower pace. They stood in the middle of Q’s flat, entwined in each other’s arms, as the music swelled and flowed like the waves on the sea. Q rested his head against James’ chest, listening to the gentle _de dum de dum_ of James’ heartbeat.

“I’m not leaving you,” Q murmured. Q could feel James tighten his grip around him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his lower back.

“Ever,” Q said, looking up at James and pressing a kiss to his lips. James smiled, one of his hands coming up to hold the back of Q’s head as Q ran his fingers up James’ chest, wrapping around his arms.

James pulled back, staring down at Q with complete adoration. Q grinned back, hands threading through James’ hair.

“Ever,” James said.

Q dismissed the remaining lights with a wave of his hand as both of them fell to the floor.


	68. A Talent for Picking Up Strays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a serious secret agent, one of the best 00’s ever to work in MI6, and he would be dammed if his image of hardcore badass would be softened by a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rum, as a belated birthday present! I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> We're just going to ignore the Real World Position on taking in strays and stuff for the purposes of fluff okay?

“Q,” James said slowly, “there is a cat on the sofa.”

Q poked his head around the corner of the door, past James and to the sofa where there was a large, rather scruffy looking, grey cat. She looked up at James with black beady eyes which held a hint of distrust in them.

“Yes,” Q replied, beaming at James, “there is.”

“Why is there a cat on the sofa?”

“She looked hungry,” Q replied.

James raised his eyebrow in question. Q wasn’t telling him something and he _knew it._

“Alright,” Q sighed, “she stays outside MI6, I see her when I go into work. She needed a home.”

The cat purred as if on cue.

“And you thought to bring her home?” James questioned.

The corner of Q’s mouth turned upwards slightly.

“I have a talent of picking up strays you know,” he remarked, disappearing back into the kitchen.

“She’s going to need a name you know,” James shouted after Q. He turned to the cat who rolled onto her back and swished her tail at him. He was a serious secret agent, one of the  best 00’s ever to work in MI6, and he would be dammed if his image of hardcore badass would be softened by a _cat._

x-x-x

They called the cat Leia after the Star Wars character. Q said that it was fitting for her, considering how she liked to wander around the flat as if looking for adventure.

James would never admit that Leia was starting to grow on him. She was always waiting for him at the door when he was at home, and when away on missions Q would sometimes allow her to perch next to him on the desk at home as he hijacked MI6’s secure network to talk to James when he was bored.

“I never thought you were a cat person,” Q remarked, shuffling next to James on the sofa.

“Is that even an actually psychological typology?” James remarked, putting his other arm around Q. Leia stretched lazily on his lap, yawning widly.

“I thought you would have been a more grizzly bear person,” Q said.

“What? Big and scary?” James remarked. Q always gave the most insightful comments when he was recovering from a long stint on coffee and adrenalin.

“Nah,” Q said sleepily, “cute and fluffy but with big teeth.”

“I don’t have big teeth,”

“Yeh, you do.”

x-x-x

James was away on a mission when he got a call from Q.

“What is it?” James asked. Q never called outside their agreed meeting times, unless it was an emergency.

“Leia had kittens,” Q said quickly.

“What? _How?_ ”

“It’s a biological fact of nature-”

“You know what I mean,” James interrupted gruffly. The computer in front of him flashed the same image, his target hadn’t moved - yet.

“Apparently she was pregnant before we took her in,” Q said, “and now she’s had kittens,”

“How many?”

“Four,”

“ _Four,”_

“They’re very cute,”

“I don’t give a damn if they’re cute, Q, what are we going to do with them?”

“…”

“No-”

“They are extremely cute James,” Q said. James could just visualise Q giving him the ‘ _please do this I will make you an exploding pen if you say yes’_ look down the phone.

“James?” Q asked. James saw his target get up from his spot and walk towards the exit. He shut the laptop quickly, grabbing his gun from the side.

“Okay then,” James said, “but I shall remind you that you are responsible for them,”

“You loved Leia,”

“Q my target is getting away,” James remarked, “I need to go.”

“Try not to make a mess,” Q said as James hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed before making a break out of the room and towards the fire exit at the end of the hallway.

x-x-x

“See, they love you.”

James grumbled as the four kittens perched on him, two on his shoulders one on his head and another clinging to his arm. Leia looked on at her children with a distinct air of smugness, swishing her tail proudly across the kitchen counter.

“I know,” James said. Luke, the one balancing on top of his head meowed as James carefully removed him with his free arm, placing him next to his mother. Then Jack, the one who was totally white apart from a patch of black on his eye, was the next to be removed next to his brother. The two girls, Jaina and Padme were next, and they kicked their little feet in protest as James removed them from his shoulders. The siblings meowed at each other, as their mother looked up at James expectantly. James rolled his eyes, petting Leia on the head.

“You are cute, I’ll give you that,” James said.

“Are you talking to me or to the cat?” Q asked.

“I can pet your head if you like,” James said, “you do have the fluffy hair for it.”

“My hair is not _fluffy,_ James,” Q remarked, his hand subconsciously trying to flatten the mess that was his hair.

“Yes it is,” James replied, leaning across the kitchen counter to press a kiss to Q's lips.


	69. Here for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times when James would just retreat into himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted "something along the lines of Bond doesn't speak much but Q understands anyway?". Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

There were times when James would just retreat into himself.

Q knew the signs by now, the way James would only answer to questions with a nod or a grunt. It generally happened after missions that were particularly intense, when James had been threatened or captured, or when something had gone so terribly astray that even James could not fix it.

He would just _stop_ communicating with words, as if the sounds he made could not encapsulate his feelings or thoughts. Q knew how it felt, it was sometimes hard enough just trying to _exist_ let alone communicating with the world around you.

So when James sat quietly on the sofa, holding his tea in his hands and staring into nothingness, Q didn’t say anything. He merely lent on James, curling himself into the taller man’s frame as he sipped on his own tea, silently saying to James that _I am here for you._

Q always thought people underestimated the power of silence. Whenever he would program, it always had to be in dead silence. It was as if the quietness made him more aware of _himself,_ of the blood pounding through his body and the rush of air through his mouth with every breath he took. It was humbling, that was what silence did. It stripped away the noise and confusion of the world and just allowed a person to _be,_ to collect themselves and their thoughts until they were ready to face the world again.

James shifted his arm, curling it around Q. Q smiled behind his mug, although James’ expression hadn’t changed, the small movement meant a lot. James would talk about what was troubling him soon enough, and Q would be there to listen.

For now, he would simply lie against James’ chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.


	70. The Morning Commute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James watch each other from afar on the train, until fate gives them a shove towards each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kelli who prompted me "some 00Q on the train. They don't know each other - perhaps both thoughts about each other? Bonus points for a queer colleague of Q who points out that Bond is hot." Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Is it him?” Ben asked Q, as he twisted in his seat to see who Q was looking at. Q kicked him in the shins under the table, before Ben did something as idiotic as ask the other man’s _name.”_

 _“_ He's hot,” Ben said, sitting back down again, “how long have you been stalking him again?”

“I haven’t been stalking him,” Q said back through gritted teeth.

“You said you kept seeing him on the train,”

“That’s a different thing,”

“Have you ever talked to him,”

“…”

“Oh come _on,_ Q, you have to talk to him,” Ben said, leaning over the small table between them. It was strewn with the remains of the sandwich packets that they always ate on the train into work. They had made it their personal challenge to ensure they made through every variation on the flavours that could be possibly conceived by man.

“No I don’t,” Q said, glaring at Ben, “how long did it take you to ask Mike out?”

“Not two months,”

“Oh, I don’t know I remember a certain _someone_ lamenting over a pint to me about him-”

“Don’t bring my personal life crisis moments into this,” Ben said warningly, giving Q a stern stare, “now _ask him his name.”_

“He could already be in a relationship,” Q muttered.

“You don’t know until you ask,”

“Oh God what happens if he doesn’t like men?”

“Well we’ll tell Eve when we get to the office and she’ll be delighted,” Ben said, looking up at the ticker tape which was showing the stations crawling across the list, “you have three stops to talk to him,”

“No I don’t,” Q said, seriously, “I won’t ask him.”

“So you’ll just wait for fate to come and shove you two together?” Ben asked, “life’s too short for destiny.”

“But it makes it let stressful,” Q remarked with a smile, leaning back on his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the subject of Ben and his conversation. He would always sit in the same seat, wearing a suit which screamed _businessman,_ before taking out his headphones and going to sleep. It wasn’t stalkerish, Q considered, but he was rather good looking with the rugged curves of his face smoothing out as he fell into sleep, and a broad frame which fitting the cut of his suit with ease.

“Maybe I’ll play some Disney music one time,” Ben suggested, “then the heavens will alight and angels will come down with their heavenly harps and direct you to _ask the guy what his name is.”_

x-x-x

James knew of the guy who sat on the train.

He would watch him out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to sleep in the mornings. It never worked, but pretending to sleep did mean not falling into conversation with any other passengers on the train. James hated mornings, even if the job did demand it. The grey foggy hours of the day were when he was at his worst, he always preferred working later anyway. The night was far more calming than the daytime, the darkness would shroud any other concerns he had and allow him to concentrate.

Although, whilst he did hate the early morning, he did like the train ride in because of the man sitting across from him. He wasn’t James’ usual type, with his slender frame and sharp bones but there was _something_ that simply intrigued James.

But he never got up to speak to him, not once.

Maybe that was a mistake, but James wasn’t good with starting conversations. Oh he was good at his job, he had to be if he wanted to keep the clients happy, but talking to someone on the train? That breached so many different tenements of the railway etiquette it didn’t even bear imagining.

So James would just watch the nameless man across the carriage, smiling to himself as he argued with his friend about some topic or other.

x-x-x

It was the 6th of May when it happened.

Q remembered the day very well, a grey morning that didn’t look at all like summer would ever arrive. The clouds hung in the sky and everything seemed far more gloomy than it should be. To make things worse, he was making the train journey in without Ben, who had decided that _now_ was a very good time to get food poisoning and sit at home being ill.

It was busy on the train, so busy in fact that Q almost didn’t get his usual seat. However, in the rush, he realised that there was another person sitting where he sat, with the only available seat across from him.

It was the man he had been watching for the past few months.

“Sorry,” the man apologised, “it was busy and-”

“No worries,” Q replied, trying to keep his voice level as his heart hammered in his chest. _Oh Ben you are going to be_ so _annoyed you missed this._

“I’m Q, by the way,” Q said, holding out his hand. The other man gave him a questioning look, as most people did when Q introduced himself, before firmly grasping Q’s hand with his own.

“James,” the man replied, “James Bond.”


	71. It's just a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has nightmares of the shadows of his past, James can only watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Aniorro, who prompted 'Q has nightmares, so James comforts him'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Running.

He was always running, running away from his past and his bad mistakes. The places he shouldn’t have hacked, people he shouldn’t have trusted, memories he would rather forget. First it was a corridor, with faces pressed against the windows with their fists hammering against the glass like inmates in an asylum. Second it was a forest, where the very ground beneath his feet rumbled and moved with every step, as creepers dropped from the ceiling to grab his limbs and _pull, pull, pull_ in the opposite directions.

Then it was a car park, that car park where he had gotten his first taste on just how deep he had fallen off the path of normality. Then it was the back room where he had hacked into a server he shouldn’t, and realised the thrill of finding out data that wasn’t his.

There were faces which taunted him, his mother and father who were like ghosts, invisible to him. They weren’t dead, it was just that Q was never wanted in their family. It had been a mistake for Q to track them down using his skills, finding out about their lives and their other children. He had watched them drop his biological sister off at school, watched them having normal lives without him.

He had found out about his father’s drinking problem, and how his mother had barely enough money to pull together a birthday party for his sister. He had spent that evening engineering a scheme to give money to his sister through a number of false bank accounts. Nobody ever spotted it, nobody even cared.

He was running across sand, his limbs heavy. Shouts of the men following him echoed off the cliff. He couldn’t run faster, he couldn’t get away.

_Bang._

He hated this memory, the pain associated with the gunshot wound.

The dream shifted, as dreams do, and he found himself lying in a bed looking up at a stark white ceiling. The police had left now, after hours and hours and hours of questions that left his brain feel like scrambled eggs and his body even more weak.

Then M had arrived.

She had offered him an escape. He said the same words as he had done all those years ago, he would take the job, take the work, and his past life would be erased. He would be given a new existence and a new name to work by.

She had handed him a folder. It was amazing how such a small brown package could contain so much.

Then the dream flittered back to the car park, back to the dark rooms and the seedy hotels. Back to the pain and hopelessness and the despair.

It was a never ending circle, one that kept going _on and on and on._ There was no escape, there never was in these dreams. He would just have to continue to ride the waves of pain and suffering until he woke up again.

x-x-x

“Q?” James shook Q. The other man muttered something incoherent, something James could not make out.

“Come on Q,” James growled, shaking the Quatermaster harder. The movement had the desired effect, Q’s eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, breathing heavily. His eyes darted about the room, looking for the shadows of his nightmare.

“James?” Q’s voice was meek, terrified, as his eyes found James’ own. James curled his arms protectively around Q, pulling him in close. He stroked Q’s hair gently, muttering soothing words to calm down Q’s erratic breathing.

“It’s just a dream, Q,” James said. He never knew what Q was dreaming about, and he never asked. There might be a day when Q would tell him what the nightmares were about, as he would tell Q about the own shadows of his past. For now, however, he would just hold Q in the inky darkness, providing some comfort to him.

“It’s just a dream,” James whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s head, “just a dream.” 


	72. You're Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When James comes home from a tough mission, Q is the person who makes him feel safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted 'Maybe Q taking care of Bonds wounds after a tough mission and Q being the one safe place for Bond'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Rain cascades down the window, the tiny droplets racing their fellows down to the window sill. Outside thunder still roars loud, crashing through the night sky to the ground below as the lightning lights up the dark clouds from which it comes. It has been raining all day, and the streets are darkened with the water which streams down them. Streetlights flicker in the dark as their pale orange light is bombarded with water, sending contorted and monstrous shadows across the street below.

Q lets the curtain fall from his hand, covering the window once more.

James is lying on the bed, sleeping fitfully. There is a bandage across his forearm where he had been sliced by his attacker, which according to medical would leave another scar on James’ already battered body.

Crossing the room quietly, Q slips back into the bed again. James’ hand instinctively curls around him, and the agent opens his eyes slowly to smile up at Q.

“Better?” Q asks. He doesn’t need to ask any more, words could not encapsulate the complex feelings that they both felt. When James comes home from missions, Q always feels relieved that James is safe, is alive. Yet it is only in the darkness of the night when he realises that James is sometimes not alright, that sometimes he brings pieces of the mission back home with him in his mind.

James doesn’t reply with words, instead crawls up into a sitting position so his head is level with Q’s, and kisses him lightly on the lips. Q smiles, wrapping his arms carefully around James’ injured arm.

Words are not precise enough to convey the meanings that Q wants to tell James. Actions are much bolder, speaking far clearer than the fickle intricacies of language.

_You’re safe,_ Q tells him as he pulls James back towards him, making the kiss deeper, _you’re safe now._


	73. Let Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture bends the mind of even the strongest will. James knows this, and still he protests that he's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For seekingsanctuary who prompted 'Bond is captured and tortured. A few weeks later he has a panic attack outside their car in a traffic jam -- something is obviously very wrong.' Hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> **WARNING: Mentions of torture, claustrophobia, and panic attacks**

“Q,” James says.

_Lights flash in front of his eyes as he is plunged into bucked of cold water. He has been trained for this, he knows he can fight it. But as they hold him for longer, and longer and longer, he begins to feels the crushing weight of the water around his ears like it is squeezing his brain out of his head._

“Yes, James?” Q answers. He is watching James carefully, he has done so since James has been released. He knows James too well to listen to his protests of _‘I’m fine’._ For once, James is glad Q doesn’t listen to him, as the car feels squashed and small, pressing in around him.

_Once they realise what his fear is, they utilise his weakness._

_They place a black bag over his head and tie him up so he can’t move. They put him in a room that used to be a broom cupboard and wait until he breaks. But he doesn’t break, because he is James Bond and however hard they try to break him he will not crumble. The secrets of a nation rest inside his mind and it will take much more than mere terror to pull them out._

_It doesn’t mean, however, that the terror doesn’t leave wounds._

“I need to get out,” James says, frantically pulling at the car handle. His hands become sweaty as he remembers the coldness of the cupboard and the panic of the water. Q leans over and opens the door for him, as James stumbles out into the street, straight into the throng of shocked onlookers. He is breathing heavy, trying to regain control of his mind as it spirals out of control.

_He thinks that he will never be saved._

_The thought enters his mind on the fifth day in the cupboard. His senses are overloaded, every smell, taste, touch simply adds to his panic that he tries to keep inside his mind. He tries not to scream, but sometimes a wimper escapes past his lips._

_His captors laugh and bang on the door. They are holding him for no purpose other than a simple code, a code that James will not give up. They taunt him saying that he is weak and feeble, nothing like they had been told._

_Their words merely make his resolve stronger, even as his mind begins to crumble._

“James,” Q says, scrambling out of the car after him and kneeling on the pavement, “breathe.”

James finds calmness slowly creep back into his body as Q gently places his hand on his shoulder. The Quatermaster is careful not to make James feel captured or trapped in a hug. Instead his intelligent eyes scan James, working out what is wrong with them.

“I’ll make them pay,” Q says, “when we find them.”

“The appointment-” James’ words cut off as the world spins. Someone, one of the onlookers, is wearing the same coloured shirt as his attacker did before plunging his head into the cold water. Suddenly he feels the weight of the water crushing down over his ears.

“I’m here, James,” Q says softly. His words bring James’ head back into reality, where he is scraping the pavement with his hands. Q barks at the onlookers to move as he scoops James up, supporting the larger man.

“My flat is not far from here,” Q says, “you’re staying with me.”

“I’m alright,” James protests, but Q cuts him off.

“You’re not,” Q says, “it’s alright, James, I’m here.”

They limp towards Q’s flat, James still weak from the panic attack. He leans against the Quatermaster, grateful for the support of the other.

“Thank you,” James whispers to Q. And he is truly thankful.


	74. A little game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silva places James in a game-world, saying that the only way to save Q is to beat the game. However, he doesn't account for the fact that James never plays by the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dear-daddy-stars who prompted 'Bond is trapped in a virtual game by Silva. If he beats the game, he can free Q (who also trapped in the game but is “sleepy”)and if he can’t, Q will be trapped in the game forever and Bond will loose him.' Hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or any of the games references in this, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> Note - my gaming knowledge is about as limited as Bond's which will explain if I've totally mis-interpreted what _Assassin's Creed_ is actually about apart from 'Romans running over rooftops'.

James stood in a corridor.

 _You have to pass the levels to get to your precious Q,_ Silva had told him, _then you can get him back. If you fail, you lose him in here forever._

James wasn’t sure how Silva had procured the technology to place him into a coma like state which he could control. What mattered was that in reality he was currently lying next to a dying Q who was being used by Silva in some sick game to make James show his ‘true capabilities’ as Silva termed it.

James squinted in the darkness, wishing he could see further down the darkened corridor. Just as the thought had formed in his head, torches sprung alight along the walls, illuminating a long stone passage.

 _Right,_ James thought, _game._

He started forward tentatively, his training taking over. Gun held up he was ready to shoot anything which tried to attack him.

The lights went out.

“What?” James said, spinning around again. There had been no change in the floor, so it hadn’t been activated by a pressure sensor.

_Last time I wanted light to see-_

A single torch flared up next to James. Shifting his gun into his right hand, James pulled the burning wood out of its holder, shifting his grip to use it as a weapon if needed.

There would be puzzles in the world, Silva had told him that much. It was Q, not himself, who was the expert at computer games, as the Quatermaster liked to modify the code of the games to make it harder or put rude messages along the walls to scare James.

_Eeeek._

James turned in the direction of the noise, which sounded like a badly oiled door swinging on its hinges. The torchlight illuminated a door that had suddenly appeared in the wall, opening to reveal a dark void of the unknown behind it.

 _Fantastic,_ James thought, as he edged towards the door, waiting for something to jump out at him. He hated being involved in Silva’s sick games, but he had to do it to save Q.

 _Now or never,_ James thought, as he stood at the entrance to the door. Sliding his foot forward, he found a step leading downwards, and tentatively put his weight on it.

Nothing happened.

James glanced up and down the dark corridor, before stepping down the stairs. The torch showed that it was a thin spiral staircase leading downwards, which seemed to be suspended in a space itself. As the door clicked _shut_ behind him, the darkness around James exploded in a thousand different colours, each one a different galaxy which spun and twirled, trying to get James to fall off his path.

 _Focus,_ James thought to himself as he ignored the flashing stars around him and concentrated on taking each step at a time. It felt like days to get to the bottom of the stairwell, where he was face with a door with an intricate carving on the front of it. James peered at the picture, it seemed to be a large bird sitting on top of a desk, wings out stretched as if it was about to take flight.

 _Great,_ James thought, _a puzzle._

The galaxies continued to swirl around him as James tried to work out what the picture meant. It was a bird, so possibly something to do with flying? But if it was to do with flight, then why would the bird be on top of a desk of some sort? It would be in the air with clouds around it.

 _Clever,_ James thought, as he worked it out. The way the bird had its wings outstretched was highly stylised, as the top of the wings stretched out far higher than the bird’s head. Squinting a bit, it almost looked like an arrow.

And arrow pointing downwards towards the desk.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” James said aloud.

The door slowly opened by some mysterious force, and James was hit by an intense heat from the other side. The carving on the door morphed under its own accord, spelling out two words instead of making a picture.

_LEVEL 2._

x-x-x

James was running across the rooftops of Rome.

It was this level, level 5 according to the tapestry that had hung over James when he had woken up, when he realised that the game was built around his internalised understanding of certain universes.

Take the current scenario, which he was positively taken from _Assassin’s Creed._ James’ knowledge of the game only extended to people running around Rome in ridiculous costumes and using punch-daggers, so that was what he was doing. He was sure Q had once tried to explain the complex backstory of the game, but for once James was grateful he couldn’t remember it. He didn’t need the game to be any harder than it needed to be.

Taking a leap across a sizable gap between two buildings, the fact he now knew the levels were built from his own knowledge enabled him to get away with pulling at the physics of whatever mental word he was in. It was why he had been able to drive a land rover through the gates of Rome about fifteen minutes before, right into a garrison of very confused and terrified guards.

James tucked his shoulder into himself as he rolled across the roof of the next building, smoothly rising from the roll and continuing running. He had some previous experience of parkor, but in this pseudo-reality, James was able to leap fifteen feet with ease.

Changing his direction, James slid down one of the roofs to get back to the ground level. Tiles scattered around him as his momentum almost catapulted himself into the wall of the neighbouring building. However, James managed to slow himself in time and bounce between the walls in a move that would be impossible to achieve in real life.

He landed lightly on his feet in front of a very startled woman.

“Terribly sorry,” James apologised, as he pushed past her. He would have lost the previous set of guards by now, but he needed to get to the temple in the middle of the city. It would be were Q was being held, after all Silva would want to have a building with a grand entrance to try and make it more dramatic.

 _Well in that case,_ James said, as he moved between two market stalls towards a door which had just appeared in the side of a building, _I’ll make my entrance dramatic._

A picture appeared on the door, as they always did. It was as if the gaming reality was trying to deter James from using the shortcuts and actually play by the rules.

However, by this point James was becoming quite an expert on it’s riddles.

This one had a man dressed in scientific clothing holding a vial of some smoking substance far away from him. The picture below had someone had someone grabbing the same vial and handing money in return. The third picture below it had a the vial sitting on a desk behind a man sitting in a chair, as if he didn’t know it was there.

 _The man who invented it doesn't want it. The man who bought it doesn't need it. The man who needs it doesn't know it,_ James thought, smiling as the answer came easily.

“A coffin,” he said clearly and the door opened into the main chamber of the temple. When James stepped through the door, he made his clothes change to that of his normal suit. Silva sat on a throne in the middle of the room, eyes wide with confusion as to how James had managed to circumnavigate his game. Q was slumped on the floor in front of Silva, his skin deathly pale and breathing shallow.

“How?” Silva asked. James smiled, pulling out his gun in one smooth motion and shooting Silva through the head.

“I don’t play by the rules,” he replied, as he ran over to Q. The game dynamics would still stay up, after all it was based on James’ mind not Silva’s, which meant the guards James had managed to lose would come charging through the door any moment.

“Q,” James said, scooping his lover into his lap. Q’s eyes opened slowly as he realised that it was James who was speaking to him.

“James?” Q asked in confusion.

“I’ll explain later,” James said, “Just do as I say. You need to wake up.”

“What?”

“This isn’t real,” James said urgently, glancing towards the door. He could hear the heavy footfalls of the guards as they approached the door.

“It’s not?”

“It’s a game, this isn’t real and you need to wake up,”

“How? Shut my eyes and make a wish?”

“Guess so,” James said, altering the reality of the world slightly to allow the characters to exit if they wished to. It wasn’t hard, although the walls of the room around them flickered slightly as the game was forced to accommodate the new rule.

“Seems you’re telling the truth,” Q remarked as he saw the wall. He gave James a smile, as he shut his eyes.

Q disappeared.

Thank god that worked, James thought as the doors crashed open and swarms of confused guards filled the room. James gave them a quick salute, before he shut his eyes and _wished_ to wake up.

x-x-x

James sat bolt upright in the bed, next to a very alive Q. Silva was lying at the end of the bed, his eyes glazed over and chest very still.

“He’s dead,” Q said to James, “I guess you killed his mind back there.”

“Good,” James said, turning towards Q, “are you alright?”

“I’m slightly disappointed you didn’t keep the Assassin’s Creed outfit,” Q said, “it would have looked good on you.”

“How do you know it was Assassin’s Creed?”

“Good guess,” Q replied.

  
  



	75. A Harsh Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Q lies on the hospital bed, his last moments in the realm of the living are accompanied by a Reaper named James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on Rum's amazing [amazing](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/48267648759/philosophy-class-somehow-ispired-me-to-draw-bond) [pictures](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/48838222701/psst-the-scythe-is-trasparent) of James as the Grim Reaper.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> **Warnings: Character Death, angst, and general pain.**

Death.

It is an idea that people choose to forget, pretending that they are immortal forever. Time flows around each living thing, giving it an allotted time for them to experience the world. Some are longer, others shorter, but each of them pulls the living towards the grey area of death.

Maybe it is because death is unknown that humans fear it so. It is not an idea which can be quantified by science, one cannot _hold_ death, or _touch_ death, or _see_ death. Yet around the cities and building of each generation, lie the tell tale signs that death exists, the gravestones which mark those buried in eons gone by and the photographs lying on a dusty mantelpiece.

Q understood death. He had to accept it, the invitable ending to his story as he lay in the hospital, fighting to stay alive. Before the crash, he would never have been able to accept it. He was only young and still courted that every being was immortal.

Now, he was disconnected from the world of the living by his wounds. The doctors milled around him, holding charts and data which all tried to quantify Q’s condition, but there was a feeling in his heart, a feeling of fear and panic, that he would not leave this room to see the green leaves on the trees. He would never again feel the breath of a fresh winter’s morning against his cheek, never see the endless expanse of sea. He would never see his home again, or his friends, he would never laugh at the pub or have an unexpected guest back to his house for the night.

“Hello, Q,”

The voice startled Q, as he turned his head slightly towards the owner. If he had been strong enough to scream, he would have, as the creature which sat beside him was like a monster from a horror movie. Skeletal hands wrapped around a tall scythe which was almost the height of the room, and part of the creature’s head was covered in a skull like a mask.

“My name is James,” the creature said, “pleasure to meet you.”

“What are you?” Q croaked, his voice hoarse. The poor florescent lights hummed into action as the daylight streaming through the small window in the corner of Q’s hospital room begun to dim.

“I am a Reaper,” James said, his voice even, “I have come to take you Onwards.”

“Onwards?” Q would have laughed if he could have, “you’re a hallucination. Reapers don’t exist. The afterlife doesn’t exist.”

“So all living men protest,” James said, “but they realise when they are on the brink of death that the unknown does not mean fiction.”

“So I’m going to die?” Q felt the weight of the realisation crush down on his shoulders as he uttered the question.

“Yes,” James said, a small hint of a smile appearing from the pale lips. If the creature had not been so otherworldly, Q would have thought it was almost kind.

“Do not be afraid, Q,” James said, noting Q’s fearful expression, “death is just a new experience.”

“You’re just saying that,” Q said, “what lies beyond then?”

“I can’t tell you that,” James said.

“Ruining the big reveal against your work ethic?”

“The Beyond is unknown for a reason,” James said, failing to rise to Q’s comment. It was odd, Q thought, how he felt stronger in the creature’s presence, as if his physical body did not restrict him anymore.

“No sneak peeks?” Q asked.

“No,” James replied, “it is for you to discover and you only.”

“You make it sound so normal,” Q said.

“It is,” James replied, “it is the natural way of things to pass on. Time is a restriction we all must abide by.”

“Even you? Whatever you are?”

“Yes,” James replied, “even I.”

“Well when you do join me,” Q joked, leaning back on the pillows, “I’ll make sure you get a warm reception.”

“I would be delighted,” James said, hands shifting on his scythe, “are you ready?”

“No,”

How could he be?

“Are you willing to pass over?” James continued, unaware of Q’s internal battle.

“I have a choice?”

“There are always choices,” James replied cryptically, “if you refuse my offer you shall stay on this earth as a spirit, wandering the remains of humanity until time itself ends.”

Q paused for a moment. He wanted so badly to stay on this earth, to stay with his friends, but there was a tone in James’ voice which spoke of a warning, a warning that if he stayed he would stay alone.

“Are you ready?” James asked again.

Q nodded, although it was really nothing more than a small tilt of his chin. He couldn’t say the words, it would make it too final, too definite.

“Close your eyes,” James said, standing up and lowering the scythe over Q’s neck, “you will awake in a new world.”

Q shut his eyes, feeling tears of terror and fear leak out of the corner of his eyes as James lowered the scythe closer and closer to his neck-

_Light._

It was blinding, burning even. It felt like he was looking directly at the sun, like had always been told not to, his eyes watering with the intensity of the whiteness that surrounded him.

Then the light disappeared, leaving black spots dancing across Q’s vision. He found himself kneeling on the ground, his wounds magically removed, bathed in gentle morning sunlight. He stood up slowly, looking around him at the vast expanse of land which lay around him, undulating hills that broke up the horizon.

He was surrounded by miles upon miles of wheat.

_It is for you to discover, and you only._

James’ words floated back across Q’s mind as he breathed deeply. He felt an innate peace spreading across his body, his soul, as he smelt the warm air and rich smells which surrounded him.

Then he picked a direction and began to walk.


	76. Haemorrhage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When James gets captured by an old associate of Q's, Q has to dig into a past life to save his agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Ventricular Fibrillation (Chp 42)
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings: Violence.**

It didn’t take long for Q to find James.

Well, it wasn’t long in the normal scheme of things, considering that his opponent was one as skilled as Q, if not more so. The tracks he had followed had been like ghosts, mere whispers of a trail left behind by James’ passing.

Yet it had still been too long.

Q balanced on the steel beams which ran across the warehouse with expert precision. He enjoyed being up high, it gave him a much better appreciation of his opponents. They were laid out below him like pieces of a chess board, James the white knight was tied to the chair, his face and body bloody from numerous beatings. Then there were the two henchmen, the castles, who flanked the main entrance, standing at the back of the room until they were called forward.

Then there was the King, ‘L’, who knelt in front of James holding the agent’s head tightly within his grasp. From this angle, Q couldn’t see L’s face, but the blood which dripped down the pale white skin of the man was tatamount to the creature which lurked inside his skin.

Q had known L with another name when they had first met. Q had only just been recruited into the business, noted for his ability to disappear and reappear at will like a magician. It was all a subtle art of illusion, giving people what they wanted to see, as opposed to what they were _actually_ seeing.

L had been the head of Q’s cell, a shrewd man with little time for inefficiency and waste. Although short and slight, the knarled appearance was merely a front for the mind which twisted inside L’s skull, the mind which made him such a monster. Q had borne witness to many times when L had lost control and continued torturing the victim mentally as well as physically, taking them to the point of death when they would reveal all of their secrets. Torture was an artform, one which Q had not enjoyed practising, and L was a master painter.

 _No,_ Q reminded himself, _use his proper name, Brian Tulley. He’s just another person you can beat._

_Who you can kill._

Q shifted his weight slightly, ensuring that he stayed in the shadows. He had chosen this particular spot because of its excellent cover, along with the fact that he could easily scamper up one of the supporting struts to the loose roof joint he had slid in by.

An easy escape route, but one Q did not intend to use if it meant leaving James.

“Now,” L said, his voice echoing up towards Q, the already tinny quality of the sound stretched and distorted with the echo that reverberated off the walls, “tell me where he is.”

James spat at the man.

 _Good on you James,_ Q said. James had been trained to deal with torture of all kinds, after all Q had read the report on the _Casino Royale_ operation where James had managed to escape from being tortured by Le Chiffre.

However, this was no ordinary villain. This was a master at work, adding layer upon layer of pain and suffering in just the right qualities until the subject broke.

“No,” James laughed, wrenching his head out of L’s grip and throwing his head back. Q could hear from the mere sound of his voice that James was in pain, that he had been in pain for quite some time.

 _My turn,_ Q thought, slipping out a phone he had swiped from a stall in London and pressing the _call_ button. The phone rang an identical mobile which Q had taped to the other side of the strut with duct tape.

“BRIAN!” Q’s recorded voice called. The effect was as he expected. The two henchmen acted without thought, firing their rifles at the sound, the bullets ricocheting off the metal with bright bursts of light.

Q acted on instinct as he scrambled along one of the interconnecting struts which lead to the corner of the warehouse. He had already scoped a way down, it was going to be a precarious climb but Q was driven by need and fury as he moved. Years of practise meant that he barely moved without a sound, as his recorded voice continued to shout _BRIAN_ throughout the warehouse.

“Q,” L said, his voice snarling in annoyance.

 _And he has good reason to be annoyed,_ Q thought, as he slowly shifted himself onto the few handholds which afforded him a route down from the ceiling, _I’m the one that got away._

_The one that survived._

“Where are you, Q?” L said, eyes glancing up in the rafters. Q smiled as he shrank back into the shadows, his dark clothing allowing him to take advantage of the poor lighting in the building. L had arranged lights around James, illuminating at ten foot radius of floor around James. However, L, in all of his stupidity and pride, had thought that no one would be able to follow him here. He had left Q plenty of hiding spots to hide in.

 _Time to act,_ Q thought, as he slid a knife out of his boot. The weapon fit easily in his hand, he preferred using knives to guns if poision was not an option. If one was going to assassinate someone for payment, Q figured that the person should be allowed to see who killed them.

 _A twisted morality,_ Q mused, stalking forward in the shadows towards where James was being held, _for a twisted childhood._

“Have you come to save your darling James?” L said, twirling theatrically. It almost looked like L was on a stage of some sort, the lights providing him with a platform to perform to a ghostly audience of his own creation. From this angle Q could see the familiar twisted features of L, the blood shot eyes and jagged scar which ran across his cheekbones. Q had a similar scar on the base of his back, where L had stabbed him for a job he had not executed to a ‘proper standard’.

Instead of retorting, Q pulled out a smoke bomb from his pocket. It was one of his own creation, and certainly not up to anything he could have created in Q branch. Yet time was off the essence, and this would work just as well if he needed to make a move.

Q slid the smoke bomb across the uneven concrete floor, the metal clanging against the ground as it spun. Q didn’t wait for it to go off, his aim had been good enough to place it at the other side of the warehouse which was still cloaked in shadow. It would take a few minutes for the smoke to travel across the room and enter the little circle of light L had created.

“Oh, Q,” L said, waving to his henchmen to investigate the sound. Q smiled, L was playing right into his hand. The henchmen moved forward, guns held up ready to fire at any sound. Q paused, creeping forward as he waited for the henchmen to move into the shadows.

 _Now,_ Q thought, as the closest henchmen slid his foot inside the shadow. His hands moved naturally, grabbing the henchmen’s gun and sliding his foot under the man’s leg, pulling him off balance. As the man fell down, Q’s hand moved with a flash, slitting the man’s throat in one simple move.

He dragged the body deeper into the shadows, depositing it quietly about five feet from L’s circle. The other henchman fired blindly, allow Q to take advantage of the noise to duck below the shots and dart towards him.

Five seconds later, he had pulled the henchman into the shadow, slitting his throat as well.

Silence fell over the warehouse.

“Well done,” L said, clapping his hands dramatically, “you haven’t forgotten your skills.”

“Q,” James whispered, his voice barely audible, “go.”

“How brave,” L said, eyes snapping back to James again, “you think your little Q is totally useless, but he is _very_ much capable.”

That made Q pause in the darkness, trying to keep his breathing steady. L _never_ gave compliments, and the main reason he wanted Q dead was because Q had been _too_ good, taking away L’s attention.

Air moved next to his ear.

Q ducked on instinct as a hand whipped across where Q had just been standing. The bad lighting made it hard for Q to try and work out exactly where his assailant was, forcing him to use his other senses to keep track of his opponent.

“Let’s see how well you play,” L said, clapping his hands twice sharply. Lights in the warehouse, lights which Q had thought had been disconnected, flashed on immediately, flooding the entire space with light. Q winced at the bright light, blinking furiously as he forced his eyes to adjust.

Then he realised that he was surrounded by ten people dressed head to toe in tight grey material so that only their eyes were visible.

“You try so hard,” L said, “did you think that I would let you just _wander_ in without a little challenge for you to play with?”

Q gritted his teeth, pressing down his anger at himself for being so _stupid._ Of course there was another game, there was _always_ another game.

That had been why Q had escaped from the life in the first place.

“Here’s the deal,” L said, delight lacing his voice, “defeat this challenge and you get James. Lose, and you both die.”

Q didn’t reply, shifting his weight as he studied the people surrounding him. He couldn’t take any visual cues, that was the reason L had covered their faces, but the two to the side of him kept glancing anxiously towards the man directly opposite him.

 _Right,_ Q thought, _you’re the main guy._

Q attacked before any of the other people could take the opportunity to surprise him. The moves came back naturally, arms and legs spinning as he aimed for the pressure points, ducking and diving out of the way of the blows which rained down around him. Some struck, but pain was not something Q considered at that moment.

Twisting around his targeted Grey Man, Q slung his arm around the man’s neck and dug his knee into the man’s spine, a clear _crack_ echoing through the warehouse. Using his momentum, he flung the limp body towards two of his attackers, the ones which had looked nervous moments before. It had the desired effect, the two of them ignoring their attacks as they dove out of the way.

Ignoring those two for a moment, Q took another man out as an arm came to strike him in the shoulder, pulling the offending limb and bringing his arm up sharply to crack the man’s elbow and break it cleanly. Ducking a second blow, Q smashed his fist into a kneecap, sending another to the floor.

The two nervous people joined the fray again, although Q could see that their attacks were not as clean as the others. Q smiled with a morbid delight as he smashed his elbow into another Grey’s face, grabbing the clothing of the first nervous and driving his fist into the man’s throat, throwing him into the second man.

Ten minutes later, Q stood surrounded by the groaning and dying bodies of the grey men. The blood on his hands could barely be seen against his black clothing, but flecks of red were sprayed across his cheeks.

“Very good,” L said, pulling out a gun from his jacket pocket and pointing it at Q, “however, now it is your time to die.”

Q ducked at the same time L shot, rolling smoothly back to standing, flinging his knife out in a clean arc.

The knife slid into L’s throat with ease.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Q snarled, as L dropped to the floor. He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his body, as he stalked towards L’s corpse and tugging his knife out of the other’s throat.

“Q?” James asked. Q looked up at James tentatively, worried that the agent would look at him with fear or disgust at the fact that the usually timid Quartermaster had just killed thirteen men.

Instead Q saw respect in James’ eyes.

“Hey, James,” Q said, smiling slightly. He dashed forward, slicing the cable ties which held James to the chair with his knife, before pulling the agent into a gentle hug.

“You alright?” Q asked, pulling away to study James’ face.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” James smiled slightly, trying to put a brave face over his pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” Q said, helping James up from his chair, “I have some explaining to do.”

 


	77. Making a Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q return to England after being stuck on a desert island with one another. It’s then a waiting game to see which one makes the move first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of 'Crash' (Chp 63)
> 
> A/N: Apparently I write a lot when I have limited internet access.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

After they returned to England, James noticed a distinct difference in Q.

Maybe it was because he had spent time with the man on a deserted desert island that allowed James to see what others could not. Q would still make jokes and give agents a dressing down if they failed to bring equipment back in one piece. However, the jokes lacked a certain spark, and the dressings down were slightly less emotional. It was as if Q had retreated into himself, placing the same façade on his face every day to ensure that no one noticed.

James wanted to help him, damn it he _wanted_ to, but there was something in Q’s eyes which stopped him asking ‘ _Are you alright?’._ A warning glare, as if Q was serious that their relationship should not continue beyond the sandy beaches which had been their temporary home for some time.

It was understandable. James felt the same feeling when he came back from a tough mission, not wanting to face reality and the _normality_ of life. Even in MI6, the work would become routine and the routine would allow the mind to wander off to other things, uncovering dark corners of a person’s psyche that they wished to forget.

So James did nothing, just watched Q from the shadows as the Quartermaster struggled on. He made an extra special effort to try and bring all of Q’s equipment back in one piece, if just to see a small smile tug its way across Q’s face, lightening the blank mask for a mere moment.

“Anything else you need, 007?” Q asked, looking up from his computer and staring at James.

 _You,_ James thought immediately. He noticed the bags under Q’s eyes and the slightly strained way he held his shoulders. The Quartermaster had not been getting a decent night’s sleep since they had returned.

“Nothing,” James smiled, trying to make Q respond. However, the Quartermaster was already buried in the code that flashed across his screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard.

 _You are truly beautiful,_ James thought as he turned away. He could feel his heart clench in pain as Q’s typing became faster, as if he wanted to disappear into the world of code and numbers, leaving reality behind.

 _Come back, Q,_ James thought, pausing at the door to look back at Q, _come back._

x-x-x

“So are you going to ask him out or what?”

James arched his eyebrow. Eve had a very good way of pointing out the obvious in such a blunt manner that if only _forced_ the person being questioned to respond. It was a technique she employed to a rather vicious degree with the politicians who swooped in to see M, making sure they understood that they were the visitors and therefore on the back foot.

“I have no idea what you mean,” James replied, smiling sweetly at Eve to try and deter further questioning.

 _I know he’s suffering,_ James thought, _I know and I can’t do anything about it._

_Not until he wants me to._

“You keep giving him those puppy eyes,” Eve remarked, glancing up for a mere moment to give James and disapproving glare before focussing on the document she was typing.

“They’re not puppy eyes,”

“Please,” Eve hit the return key with a finality it probably didn’t need, “big, blue and soppy? Puppy eyes, definition of.”

“I can’t do anything until he wants me to do something,” James said.

“You’re waiting for him?” Eve’s face was one of disbelief, “how much did you _change_ on that island?”

“Enough,” James replied shortly.

“He’s suffering,” Eve lent forward, holding James’ cold gaze easily, “you’re suffering. He certainly isn’t going to approach _you.”_

“Why not?”

“Because you’re 007,” Eve remarked, “you’ve got a legend that’s large enough to scare off most humans, let alone a Quartermaster who only thinks you got it on with him because you were stuck on some spit of sand for a few weeks.”

“Q’s not like that to me-” James started, as Eve cut him off.

“Then prove it to him,” Eve scribbled something on a piece of paper, before handing it to James.

“It’s his address,” Eve explained, “ _go and tell him.”_

x-x-x

James stood outside Q’s apartment, feeling nervous.

It was stupid really, how he would feel nervous about talking to the same man he interacted on almost a daily basis in MI6. However, this was different, this mattered, _Q mattered,_ and it gave James all the more reason to feel nervous.

 _Come on James,_ he told himself as his hand hovered above the bell, _you can fight down international terrorists but can’t talk to the man you love?_

James pressed the bell.

 


	78. Morning Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q’s a clone. James is an agent. They’re not supposed to be on holiday but sod it who cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of We’re not all free to fly (chp 52)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit!

“You know,” Q said, propped up on the pillows of the bed, “I wasn’t even supposed to be sentient.”

“What?” James asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Morning sunlight trickled in through the thin curtains. The noise of the busy traffic rose up from the road below, vibrating through the thin windows and into their room. It was almost like home, really.

“The person who created me,” Q said, looping his arm around James, “I was supposed to only respond to certain commands, almost like a robot.”

“That’s awful,” James replied. It was good that the people who had ‘created’ Q in a lab were already dead, otherwise James would take a small detour to show them what he thought of their ‘science experimentation’.

Q shrugged.

“I suppose no one expected me to respond so well, after all I was their first complete test of the mutated DNA strands they had been working on. How where they supposed to know I would be able to achieve everything they asked of me?”

“They bloody should have done,” James pressed a kiss to Q’s temple, “no one should underestimate you.”

“You’re just saying that,”

“No, Q, you’re _brilliant,_ ”

“Only because I have you,” Q said, “it’s only since I came to MI6 that people stopped looking at me like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster.”

“I don’t think you would suit the bolt holding your head together,” James said.

“I don’t think _anyone_ would suit a bolt through their head,” Q’s mouth tugged into a smile, “although I know a certain agent who can be quite stubborn at times.”

“I’m only as stubborn as you,” James said.

“Technically I could argue I was ‘programmed’ this way.”

“Programmed my arse,” James replied, “I remember someone swearing quite _colourfully_ at the traffic the other day. No robot could do that.”

“I wasn’t talking in the computerised sense,” Q remarked, “I think you would have noticed if I was some humanoid robot.”

“You never know, Terminator was pretty realistic.”

“I should have never shown you those movies,”

“They were on the in-flight program!” James protested, grinning, “you insisted I educate myself.”

“Only so I could sleep.”

James pressed a kiss to Q’s lips.

“You know,” James said, “M’s going to kill us when she finds out we’re in Rome.”

“She already knows,” Q said. James yelped in surprise, as Q reached down to the bedside table and pulled up an email, holding up the screen so James could read the message.

_Don’t be idiots. Have a nice time in the sun. M asks not to piss off the Italians._

_Eve_

“She has no faith in me,” James grinned, “I didn’t cause that much trouble last time.”

“You broke Venice,” Q remarked, curling into James, “I think that counts as trouble.”


	79. If you fall (I'll catch you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets ill, James takes the opportunity to talk to him about coping with his fear of flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This started out as a small continuation of 'Crash' and 'Making a Move' and then Q became ill.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Getting a cold in the middle of the summer defied every biological system Q knew existed.

He sniffled into his tissues, curled up on the sofa with a blanket which James had tossed over him. It amused Q no end how caring the agent could be when Q was ill, as if he was responsible for Q’s health.

 _Well,_ Q thought, as he sneezed into a tissue, _I happen to save his life on numerous occasions._

“Are you feeling better?” James asked, as he placed a steaming mug of earl grey tea on the table next to Q.

“No,” Q replied, sniffling, “this is ridiculous, getting a cold in the middle of summer.”

“I don’t think viruses are dependent on the weather,” James replied, feeling Q’s forehead, “just be glad it isn’t a tropical disease of some kind.”

“The last time I was anywhere tropical,” Q said, waving his tissue, “was over a year ago stuck with you on an island. I don’t think diseases lie dormant for that long.”

“Actually-”

“James, please don’t start listing off the tropical diseases that have a year incubation period,” Q interrupted, “I already hate planes, I don’t need to hate every disease associated with the tropics as well.”

“It might come in useful,” James said, sitting in the chair opposite Q. The stubborn man refused to leave Q, saying that his immune system had been hit with worse than the common cold.

Q sniffed. This was no common cold, his nose hurt, he couldn’t hear anything, and he could swear that he was three times colder than the room even though he was covered up with blankets.

“For all those times I go abroad,” Q said, “using those planes.”

“You could take a boat,” James suggested, “go on a cruise.”

“Might sink,”

“I thought you didn’t mind boats.”

Q frowned. How could James understand? It was the fear of being totally out of control which scared him, like the sensation of tumbling through the sky without anything to save him. He would be keeping his two feet firmly on the ground thank you very much.

“Not a fan,” Q replied. James cocked his head to one side, his large blue eyes making him look like an inquisitive puppy.

“You know,” James said, “I use to have a fear of heights,”

“Heights?” Q frowned in confusion, “but you’re happy jumping off buildings.”

“Because I had done it before,” James smiled, “I figured that it couldn’t be any worse than the last time I had fell off a building, so it didn’t scare me as much.”

“James Bond, defeating irrational fear with logic.”

James rolled his eyes.

“I would hardly call it logic,” James replied, “just a mechanism to cope.”

“Well, I don’t have one,” Q curled into his blanket, trying not to think of the sickening sensation of falling.

“Yes you do,” James replied.

“What?”

“It’s me,” James said, “if you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“I hardly think you would be able to catch me as I tumble through the sky surrounded by the burning wreckage of the plane.”

“I’d still try,” James replied.


	80. Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were some people in the world who could see dreams and nightmares. Q was one of those people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted me: 'James and Q can't sleep in the same bed because of James' nightmares.' As I've had quite a few James+nightmare prompts recently, I thought I would go a little AU with this one! Hope you like it anyway! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

There were some people in the world who could see dreams and nightmares.

Oracles, they were called, those people who could perceive the dream ghosts of others, the spirits which circled the sleeping person, and interact with them on occasion. It was a dying talent, with fewer and fewer children recorded as having the trait. It would manifest when the child was going through puberty, allowing them to see the almost invisible whips of dream ghosts which followed every person wherever they went. If an Oracle learnt to interpret the symbols present in the ghosts, they could learn much about the other person.

Q hated being an Oracle though. It was only those who did not have the trait which saw it as a gift. Those who could see the ghosts that floated behind every person, such as a fox carrying a dead raven in its mouth (feeling unlucky/fate ignoring the subject/depressive thoughts) or a one-eyed doll with a huge smile on its face (waiting for happiness to end/missing childhood/feeling blind in a certain area of lfie), saw it as a curse, a curse which made them be haunted by other people’s twisted dreams.

It had been the reason Q had learnt how to deal with computers, shutting himself away from the outside world where people and their ghosts walked. Computers did not have any white trails following them, no hidden symbols which Q would naturally decode. It was just lines of clean cut code, talking with people who he could not see who used false names and false lives on the internet.

Q managed to deal with his curse during normal day to day life, ignoring the many symbols which floated around Q branch. Sometimes a cat with fangs and claws embedded with diamonds (feeling hunted/wanting security/powerful) or a bird with no eyes and hands instead of wings (locked in one place/feeling hopeless/wanting to be in control) would cross his line of sight, but nothing which Q could not ignore.

Then he met James Bond.

The symbols swirling around the agent were so powerful, Q couldn’t fail to miss them. The axe hanging over the man’s head, cloaked in black smoke meant he had seen death; whilst the snake lacing around James’ arm denoted healing and protection. Even as James talked, the images would shift constantly, the axe becoming a horse (freedom/strength) and the snake becoming a knife, then a gun (dangerous/weapon/anger).

However, Q had no idea how powerful the images would become when James slept.

The first time they had laid in the same bed, Q had woken up to see a woman standing at the end of the bed, her hair floating around her in a dark halo. Her clothing was wet, eyes dead, and she simply stared at Q until she disappeared into the darkness.

When Q asked James about it, he had shrugged off the comment. James knew Q was an Oracle, but he didn’t _understand._ When James tossed and turned, the room would become another world, full of shadows and ghosts that would watch Q with dead eyes. There were corpses which dripped red blood down their arms, monsters that were half human, half draconian, which growled at Q as James fought off the nightmare.

However, none of those images had been as terrifying as Q waking up to find the room on fire, the flames licking the carpets and curtain with their ghostly touch, and the image of a young James flickering in the corner of the room, crying.

It wasn’t good for their relationship, Q knew that. However, he just couldn’t put himself through the nightmares which would rise out of the dark whenever James went to sleep. His love had a powerful and dark past, one which would be unleashed when sleep drifted over him. Q couldn’t fight against that, not all the time.

So Q would sleep in the room next to James’, peacefully in the dark, alone. He hated it, it reminded him of the lonely night he had before James had arrived in his life. His curse was the only thing keeping them apart, and for that he hated himself.

Until one evening, when Q laid down to go to sleep, drawing the blanket around his cold body, did he see a small Dream Ghost drift through the wall that separated him and James. No bigger than his hand, the small Ghost flew down in the shape of a swan, fluttering down next to Q’s head. It nestled into the pillow next to Q, tucking its long neck under its wings.

 _Swan,_ Q’s mind provided for him as he shut his eyes, _the ghost mixed with other symbols can mean purity, knowledge or grace._

_When viewed on its own, however, it represents love._


	81. Ringtone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q changes James' ringtone. James is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kelli who prompted 'Q recorded a (mortifying) ringtone for Bond's new phone which is given to him by Q of course. Where it goes off, is up to you!'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or the teletubbies. This is written for fun and not for profit.

“Q,”

“Yes?”

James tapped his fingers on the edge of Q’s desk impatiently.

“Why is the ringtone on my phone set to the nyan cat?”

Q’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“I thought you would like it.”

James stared at the Quartermaster incredulously.

“ _Like it?”_ he spluttered, “Q, the guys trying to catch me broke down _laughing.”_

“Gave you a distraction though,” Q kept his smile pinned on his face, “I do believe you managed to escape.”

“That’s not the point-”

“The point _isn’t_ that you managed to get out alive?” Q said, “or that your pride is dented.”

“Q, after this story gets out, I won’t have any pride _left.”_

Q frowned, feigning sympathy.

“Maybe you’ll bring my equipment back this time?”

“I always bring your equipment back.”

“In bits.”

“You never specify otherwise.”

“I think you’ll find I always specify bring back your equipment _in one piece_ ,” Q replied, “it’s supposed to be indestructible.”

“Well you could say that I test drive your equipment,” James replied, pushing the offending phone towards Q, “so can you change the ringtone back.”

“James, are you telling me you can destroy millions of pounds worth of equipment but _not_ a phone?”

“Q, I put that in a barrel of petrol and set the damn thing _alight_ and it still didn’t break it.”

Q smiled.

“I might have given it some extra protection.”

“More protection than my gun?” James shook his head.

“It allowed you to test drive the protection yes?” Q smiled, pushing the phone back towards James, “so you can go test its limits.”

“You’re not changing it back?”

“Nah,” Q smirked, “although I might change it to the teletubbies theme tune later.”

“How can you do that?”

“I’m your Quartermaster, James, my powers are practically limitless.”


	82. Friday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are certain evenings when both James and Q are home at the same time. It is those evenings when they can almost have a normal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For craigshaws who prompted 'some good old domestic 00Q fluff! Maybe your interpretation of a typical Friday night at the James and Q household?'. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Friday nights were not normal, to say the least.

Normally, James would be on a mission somewhere, and Q would be buried in the depths of Q branch trying to make new weapons for his partner to unleash on his enemies. Even when James was home, taking the few months of leave he got when he returned and hadn’t pissed off M, it would take him a week or so to adjust back to normal life. Q, meanwhile, would be trying to track various missions and ensure everyone was equipped. He was responsible for equipping the entire 00 section, after all.

However, there were a few Friday’s when both James and Q could have a normal life. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for them both.

x-x-x

“James,” Q asked, poking his head around the door, “why do I smell burning?”

“Shit,” James swore, diving towards the oven and opening the door. Smoke spilled out of the door, as James tried to get the now blackened chicken out of the oven.

“Chinese then?” Q smiled as James held the blackened meat aloft with distain.

“How is it possible to burn it?” James said, as Q begun to open the windows of the kitchen to stop the fire alarm going off, “it’s _chicken.”_

“Just be thankful you’re not a chef,” Q said, pressing a kiss to James’ cheek, “or that the safety of Britain depends on your cooking skills.”

“Chinese seems like a good plan,” James said, setting the still smoking chicken on the side, “and a bottle of wine.”

“Wine? We are being sophisticated today.”

“I try,” James replied, taking off the oven gloves and wrapping his arms around Q, “although my domestic skills do need work.”

“I’ll order the normal,” Q said, kissing James before unwinding himself from James’ embrace, “you open the wine.”

“Red or white?”

“Red is better,”

“Just because you are a fussy drinker,” James smirked.

“Says the man who specifies how he likes his martini,” Q replied quickly, dashing out of the room to go order the Chinese. James smiled at Q’s retreating back, crossing the small kitchen to get out the bottle of red and two wine glasses. Their flat was open plan mostly, which mean the lounge was only separated by the kitchen counter, marked out by the two large leather sofas facing the TV set into the wall.

James put the glasses down on the table in front of the sofa, he poured a general amount into each glass, sitting down on the plush leather just as Q returned into the room.

“They should be here in half an hour,” Q said, curling into James as he picked up his glass and took a generous sip, “maybe your burnt attempts at food will disappear by then.”

“My pyrotechnic skills are not just limited to world-class villains,” James pulled Q in close, “and at least I didn’t burn anything else down.”

x-x-x

Two hours later, James and Q curl up on the sofa, limbs interlocking with one another, surrounded by the remains of their Chinese takeaway dinner. The orange light from the streetlights outside seep under the edge of the curtains, fingers of brightness skimming over the darkness which claims the room. The windows are still open, letting the cool wind of the night flow into the room like a breath of air entering lungs. The room is quiet, apart from the light breathing of the Agent and his Quartermaster as they sleep in each other’s embrace.

And after all the trials they go through protecting their Country, it is a perfect moment of peace for them both.


	83. Artform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has never kissed anyone before. James is surprised by Q's talent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted 'kisses. Q never kissed, Bond expects to teach him slowly. Turns out Q is a natural right from the 1st kiss on. Now he can't get enough of Bond's kisses.' Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Kissing for James Bond were more than a sign of physical affection.

No, it was an artform. It was a weapon he could use to mould his subject under his control, to draw out information from them. It was a way he could spill out his needs, his desires, without leading to anything more. It allowed him to show affection in a job where affection was the one thing he couldn’t have.

He had guessed Q had never kissed anyone. It wasn’t a sticking point between them, and James respected that. Q had said he just never found anyone ‘interesting’ enough to decide to place his lips over theirs. To Q, a kiss was more than a thing which was dealt out without care, it was an act of trust between himself and the other person.

So when James dipped his head for their first kiss, on a rainy night on the Embankment, he didn’t expect Q to have the same experience he did, to be clumsy and desperate.

But Q, darling, perfect Q threw away all of James’ preconceptions. James felt Q’s lips move _just_ in the right way, moulding to James’ own. Q pulled James closer, arms snaking around his back and through his hair, making James smile. Q tasted of tea and rain as James ran his tongue along Q’s lips, tempting Q further.

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms for what seemed like eons. All of James’ previous experiences, all of the short kisses in the back of alleys or the long kisses the morning all paled in comparison to this experience. _This_ was just perfection, the hammering of his heart inside his chest and the rush of blood through his body showed that. James could feel the rain run down his face, the water sliding between his and Q’s lips as they kissed.

Then, James pulled back for breath, smiling down at Q with a connection, a _trust_ he had never shown anyone before. Q raised his eyebrow, pulling his hand from James’ hair to push his now misting glasses back up his nose.

“Assessment?” Q asked.

“Perfection,” James replied, cutting off any reply Q had with his lips.


	84. Today is for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wakes up on his birthday to find a vase full of red roses at the end of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tigrasevaddict - 'maybe something the birthday of James or Q and James or Q is sweet/cute with the other. Have the day off and spend the day together, make everything to be a perfect day'. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Birthdays had never been special to James.

He could never really remember a specific birthday party with his family, the memories tainted by the grief and sadness of his childhood. Sure, there were the joke cards and presents James would get from friends at school or his comrades in the Navy, but nothing meaningful. Nothing which said _I am glad you are alive, thank you for being in my life._

So when James woke up on his 42nd birthday, after he and Q had been dating for nearly nine months, he didn’t expect there to be a bunch of red roses at the end of the bed.

James leant forward slightly, his shoulder protesting from the wound that he had gained from his most recent mission, fingers reaching out to gently caress the red petals of the flowers. They were soft, fragile, yet beautiful in their own unique fashion.

Just like his Q.

“Do you like them?” Q asked, leaning against the doorframe. James smiled, his emotions which fluttered inside him unable to be spelled out in words.

“Thank you,” James said, trying to push his surprise, gratefulness, his love into those two words. Q grinned, his entire face lighting up with joy and delight, as he bounded over and bounced next to James on the bed. Q curled his arms around James’ torso, and James looped his arm over Q’s back to pull him close.

“You have a plan for today?” James asked.

Q’s eyes lit up.

“Of course,” he replied, carefully taking one of the roses out of the vase and waving it in front of the agent’s face, “first the coffee shop-”

“Our first date?” James interrupted. Q smile widened even further.

“Then the park,” Q said, “because you never get to see the parks in summer when you’re away,”

“The whole grand tour then?” James said, carefully taking the rose from Q’s grasp and placing it with the others, before pulling Q towards the mattress, “you’ve had this planned for ages, haven’t you.”

“I haven’t even got to the dinner yet,” Q said, kissing James lightly, “today is a day for _you.”_

“No,” James replied, kissing Q furiously, “today is a day for _us.”_


	85. Run across the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space was big, sure, but when half the galaxy was on your tail there were very few places left to hide.
> 
> (Or Q busted James out of prison and now they're both wanted fugitives)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ponandzifan who prompted me with some music! I picked a few songs out of the list and listened to them for a long while, and then my muse suggested 'SPACE'. Hope you like it!
> 
> Songs I used - Can You Feel My Heart (Bring Me The Horizon), Sleepwalking (Bring Me The Horizon), Deathbeds (Bring Me The Horizon Feat. Hannah Snowdon), Timing Is Everything (Lights), Fourth Dimension (Lights).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q would always find the darkness of space therapeutic.

Sometimes, when the ship was powered down in the orbit of some small planet on the outer edges of the Region, he would just stare out of the window for hours. With the naked eye, the stars were merely white dots in his vision, but he knew what they were truly. They were vast cosmic powerhouses, moulding the elements of space with their immense pressure and temperatures.

In those few minutes before he slipped into the bunk next to James, Q would find comfort. It was as if the universe was trying to show him that there was beauty still left, still wondrous and amazing things that had not yet been uncovered.

“Q, come to bed,” James mumbled from the small cot. Q smiled at his partner, sliding down next to him.

“It’s alright,” James said, as Q curled around him, “we’ll get out of this, we always do.”

x-x-x

Being on the run from the authorities was not as romantic and amazing as all the media liked to make it.

It was little sleep, constant paranoia, and suspicion. It was never trusting anyone who you spoke to. It was a constant slew of fake names, fake histories, fake identities.

Space was big, sure, but when half the galaxy was on your tail there were very few places left to hide.

x-x-x

“Shit,” James said, swivelling around in his seat. The console room was small, the _Chimera_ was only a small transport-class ship, built mostly for hauling cargo from one planet to another. Q had stolen ( _borrowed)_ from a port in the Vegros-5 system before he had broken James out of jail.

“What?” Q said, darting into the seat next to James, plastic cup of tea in his hand.

“The Authority is onto us,” James said, pointing at the long-range radar screen where the Ship number _456-385_ flashed on the screen, “it’s a code they use when trying to move large groups of ships.”

“Large groups?” Q bit his lip, “you mean they’re sending out the entire squadron for you?”

“Us,” James smirked, “you did break me out.”

“It was hardly as dramatic as _saving_ a whole unit only to be turned over to the Authority,” Q shook his head, “no they want you more than me.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” James said, as he automatically begun pressing up the booster buttons above him, “they’re coming for both of us, and they want us dead,”

“So a usual day in the office then?” Q asked, pressing the small button on the side of his cup to put the lid over the liquid before placing it in his home-made cup holder that had been moulded to the side of his seat.

“Indeed,” James replied, grabbing the controls and turning off the auto pilot. James was one of the best pilots in the system, after all he had been trained as an Authority agent before he had gone rogue.

“Do you blame me?” Q asked, “for all this.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“You could still be living in that nice apartment if you had decided not to kill me,” Q said, taking up the secondary controls.

“But then who would I have to make me tea?” James smiled at Q, and Q’s heart skipped a beat as it always did whenever James grinned at him. The man’s rugged features made him look hard, but if you knew where to look it wasn’t hard to find James’ true nature. It was just hidden in the corner of his mouth, or in his eyes, where small flashes of caring would show from behind his well-trained mask.

“So we’re going to try outrun them?” Q asked.

“If we can,” James said, pushing the controls forward and moving the _Chimera_ out of the planetary orbit, “if we can make it to the Zetra Quadrent we might be safe.”

Q frowned. The Zetra Quadrent was a good 5 clicks away from their current position, and they would be hard pressed to get there in time. It would be a hard run for an Authority-Class ship to get there, let alone a little tin can like the _Chimera._

“If not?” Q said.

“Then we fight,” James replied.

x-x-x

It turned out they were not fast enough to get to the Zetra Quadrent.

Pulsar blasts flew all around them as Q tried to fire back as James drove them through the middle of the fleet, trying to make them a hard target to hit.

“We can’t escape them, James,” Q shouted down the comms.

“I know,” James grunted, “we need to get a faster ship.”

“A faster one?” Q questioned, “where are we going to get-”

He stopped mid-sentence as he realised where James was directing the _Chimera._ Below lay one of the smaller Authority-class vessels, a Destoryer-537, one which was currently trying to stay in the lee of the larger vessels to stay out of the main fire.

“Go for it,” Q said, firing at a smaller Authority ship which then lost control, careering into the bridge of the largest Authority vessel - a Whale-class transporter.

The _Chimera_ took a sudden turn, diving downwards towards the now burning Whale-class ship. The fleet of attack fighters followed them down, but James was far faster than any of them, zipping and diving between the structures which rose up from the surface of the Whale-transporter. It looked like they were flying down the cities found long ago on Earth, with their tall skyscrapers that towered above all the people.

The _Chimera_ rocked as James flew over the edge of the Whale-transporter, diving downwards to their target. Q spun in his shooting turret, picking off the remaining attack fighters with a few well-aimed shots.

“Q,” James said, “we’ll only have five minutes to gain control.”

“I know,” Q said, unstrapping himself from the rotating seat in the turret and climbing back up the ladder towards the Main Deck. The _Chimera_ hummed around them, the very fabric of the ship shaking as the strain James was placing it under begun to take control.

Q crawled out onto the Main Deck, glad that he had managed to make the Gravity system on the _Chimera_ work before they had engaged in fighting the Authority itself, as he ran along to their small bunk to pick up their panic bags.

“Q, we’ll be docking in five. Get the guns,” James barked down the comms, as Q threw the backpack across his shoulders and ran back towards the main door. Once they parked near enough to the Destroyer class ship, Q would hack their teleportation systems to swap the two crews over.

“In position,” Q said, as he skidded to a halt next to the computer’s mainframe computer, opening up the command lines.

“Good,” James said, “ready to attack in 3, 2, 1, _NOW!”_

At James’ word, Q’s fingers flew over the keyboard, as layers and layers of code were sent towards the target’s computer. He smiled as he found the program’s weakens, it was in the same spot for all Authority-class ships.

“Come on,” Q said, as he tapped a new line of code, which immediately bounced back again.

 _So they’ve updated their systems,_ Q thought, just as James appeared in his perifoeral vision, two guns thrown over his shoulder and the other panic bag in hand.

“Nearly there,” Q said, as he attempted another line of code, this one tricking the computer system to look elsewhere for an attack whilst the primary program ate its way through the security.

A violent force shook the _Chimera._

“We’re hit,” James said, “the shields won’t hold for long.”

“I know,” Q muttered, fingers flying.

_Nearly there, nearly there -_

_Got it._

Q and James were teleported into the other ship, whilst the crew of the Destroyer were teleported into the _Chimera._ It took Q a few seconds to orientate himself, but James was already running towards the drive room. Q followed suit, dropping the backpack from his shoulders to run faster.

They needed to escape, and fast.

Q stumbled into the drive room, as James was already buckling in. The bright lights of the dashboards and programs which Q hadn’t seen in years greeted him, the sleek black surfaces of the consoles practically glowing with the multitude of buttons that rose out of the surface.

“Going for Starjump in five,” James said, as Q strapped himself in. James pressed the acceleration, and the Destroyer ship jumped forward with an acceleration that the _Chimera_ could never match.

_Boom._

“That would be our old ship,” Q muttered, prepping the ship for Starjump. James simply directed the ship towards empty space, trying to put as much space as possible between themselves and the attack fighters which had followed them.

“Ready to Starjump,” Q said, as the buttons all flashed green to say that the ship was prepared.

“Jumping,” James said, flicking the cover off the side of his control and pressing the red button underneath.

With a sudden force, they leapt into the darkness of space.


	86. Pokemon Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know,” James said, glancing down at his Arcaine, Arthur, who was still staring at Q’s Espeon with a forlorn gaze, “I think pokemon dating should be patented.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For exploding-pens who prompted 'Bond and Q are Pokemon trainers. Q specialises in Psychic types (my firstborn if you write Espeon as his main) and Bond specialises in Fire and Water types. They meet in battle, their Pokemons fall in love with each other after the battle and refuse to enter their Pokeballs and part. Bond and Q end up having dinner together.' My minuscule knowledge on Pokemon kind of limited me a bit, but I hope you still like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, or Pokemon. This is written for fun and not for profit.

“You know,” James said, glancing down at his Arcaine, Arthur, who was still staring at Q’s Espeon with a forlorn gaze, “I think pokemon dating should be patented.”

Q raised his eyebrow, glancing down at his Espeon as well.

“They sure are both stubborn enough,” Q rolled his eyes, taking another mouthful of spaghetti.

James munched thoughtfully on his own food. He had never known Arthur to be interested in another pokemon before, and _especially_ when battling was involved. Arthur was as stubborn as himself, and he didn’t like to lose at all. However, for Q’s Espeon, Eve, Arthur had refused to enter his pokeball again.

“You know,” Q said, waiving his fork, “I’ve never met someone who specialises in fire _and_ water types.”

“Really?”

“I would have never thought it would work,” Q said, “but your team is really strong.”

James smirked a little. He had to admit, Q was handsome enough with his sharp cheekbones and long fingers, but there was a little gimmer in his eyes which spoke of something more.

 _Maybe Arthur was right,_ James thought, _Q_ is _interesting._

“Thank you,” James replied, “as is yours - I don’t think I’ve ever met a Psychic team with such a strong set of attacks as yours.”

“They train hard,” Q said, nodding towards his Espeon, “especially Eve,”

At the mention of her name, Eve perked her head up from where she was nuzzling Arthur. Arthur frowned at the lack of attention, placing his head on his paws in a move that James knew as ‘ _No I am the main centre of attention look at me’_ face.

James reached down and scratched Arthur’s head to comfort him.

 _You and me both,_ he thought.

“So what about you,” Q asked, returning his attention to James.

“Me?”

“Y’know,” Q smiled, slightly hesitant, “life story and all.”

“My life story is dull,” James replied, “although I _can_ tell you the story when old Arthur here tried to play fetch and managed to set half a park on fire.”

Q looked down at Arthur, clearly impressed.

“It all started,” James said, “after we managed to defeat our first Gym Leader…”


	87. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is terrified of thunder. James comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted anon 'Q is scared of a lot of things like flying, thunderstorms etc. and Bond is understand and comforts him.' Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“I’m _fine,_ James,” Q said.

James frowned. Q was curled up in the corner of the room, eyes looking in every corner and jumping out of his skin as another peal of thunder echoed through the sky.

“No you’re not,” James said, sitting down next to Q.

“I’m fine,” Q said through gritted teeth, “it’s just not my cup of tea.”

Another crack of thunder made Q yelp with fright.

“Sure,” James said, tucking his arm around Q’s shoulder and pull the shaking Quartermaster close.

“It’s just stupid,” Q said, shutting his eyes as if to wish away his terror, “stupid.”

“That is why it’s called irrational,” James said, pressing a kiss to the top of Q’s head, “so don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying,” Q clenched his jaw, “just a bit unsettled.”

“You’re bloody terrified.”

“That too,” Q curled into James’ side, burying his head into James’ shoulder.

“It’s fine Q,” James said, “I’m here.”

“It’s not like you can shoot the thunder out of the sky,” Q muttered.

“I could sing you lullabys,”

“That would be worse than the thunder, James.”

“I have a beautiful singing voice, Q,”

“Of course you do,” Q said, jumping at another peal of thunder.

“Breathe, Q,” James said. He could feel the Quartermaster’s breathing become steadier at the command, more regular and controlled.

“Thank you,” Q said, quietly, as he tightened his grip on James. James smiled, pressing a kiss on top of Q’s head, resting his head upon Q’s.

“You’re welcome,” James replied.


	88. We can live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is stuck under rubble, and Q won't leave him even as the fire creeps closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful Tracionn who prompted 'Being such a sucker for h/c, could you do one in which Q shields Bond (who’s maybe jammed into debris and can’t move) with his body to protect him form rocks/flashes/fire/dropping acid etc'. I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“James,” Q said, “can you move it?”

James was trapped under a piece of metal which had fallen from the explosion, and now his leg was bent at an unnatural angle. It would be impossible to get out with James injured, dammit _James_ was the one who was supposed to protect _Q,_ not the other way around.

“No,” James grunted, lying against the surrounding debris in pain. It was lucky they had a relatively good position here, the debris afforded them some protection against the constant barrage of gunfire which hit the rocks around them.

“Support will be here in fifteen minutes,” Q said.

“We won’t hold them off for fifteen minutes,” James grunted, “that explosion was supposed to take us out. They’ll just be finishing the job now.”

“No they won’t,” Q said, sliding his hand into James’ jacket and pulling out his gun, “I can hold them off.”

James grunted. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his jaw was clenched in pain.

“You go,” James said.

“Don’t pull me that heroic crap,” Q said, and positing himself over the top of the rubble, “I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t even-” James started, as Q took aim with James’ gun and took one of the snipers that had hidden himself a few hundred yards away.

“Who do you think tests all your guns?” Q asked, as he continued to take out more of the people shooting at them. The return fire increased in intensity as the deaths of their comrades incensed the remaining attackers.

Then the magazine ran out.

“Shit,” Q said, as he threw the gun to one side. James gave a weak cough of amusement.

“Now whose damaging the equipment?” he said.

Then their attackers stopped firing.

“What?” Q said.

Then he smelt it.

The smell of burning plastic and petrol rose into the air, as thick black fumes of smoke rose into the sky. They were surrounded by flammable materials, and their attackers knew that they wouldn’t leave one another.

“Q-” James started, but Q stopped him.

“I’m not leaving you,” Q said, lacing his fingers through James’ bloodied ones, “this fire won’t catch before the support team come and get us out.”

Q focused on James to stop him from looking at the fire which was slowly eating through the rubble around them. The stench of the smoke filled his lungs, as he coughed furiously to try and get air into his lungs. However, Q never looked away from James, keeping his gaze on the agent’s pained face. He hated seeing James like this, so vunerable and weak. _James_ was supposed to be the one who protected people, who saved Q from the danger.

Q was scared, he knew that. He was no field agent, and he wasn’t trained for situations like this, with life and death hanging on a knife’s edge. The heat from the fire consumed his thoughts, as he tried to stay focued on James’ face, on the happy memories he had with the man.

“We can do this, James,” Q whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke, “we can live.”

Then he blacked out.

x-x-x

“Q?”

Q opened his eyes tentatively. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and every breath was a struggle.

“Q?” the voice said again.

He recognised that voice, the hint of the accent and the caring tone in the words. It was a voice he had woken up to so many times before, the voice that told him that he was loved every morning when he woke up.

“James?” Q croaked, as his vision cleared. James sat next to his bed, looking in bad shape with the amount of gauze which covered his face. From the angle, Q couldn’t see what had happened to James’ leg, but from the angle he was sitting at it was likely he had a number of pins put through the bone.

“Hey, Q,” James said, holding onto Q’s hand tightly.

“Hey, James,” Q smiled, his skin hurting, “did I say we would make it out alright?”


	89. Duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Freddie might be twins, but circumstances have driven them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who prompted 'I don't know if you've seen the Hour, but an AU where Q and Freddie are twins would be interesting and fun to read!' I've never seen the Hour (I know, I know) but I hope you still like it! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or the Hour, this is written for fun and not for profit.

The door closed behind Freddie’s retreating back.

“How come you’ve never mentioned him before?” James asked.

Q pursed his lips. He and Freddie, it wasn’t that they didn’t get on, but more how fate had forced them apart. He knew he could trust Freddie, his brother was like the other half of himself and it killed Q to have to keep secrets.

But then he understood the nature of his job, and what it required. Freddie, being an investigative journalist with a tenacity for the truth, wouldn’t understand the secrets that Q kept for the good of the country. They were both trying to fight for what was right, but each brother had a different way of doing it.

“Circumstance,” Q said, “he’ wouldn’t understand.”

“You sure about that?” James asked, looking at his partner carefully, “he seemed pretty trustworthy.”

“Oh he’s trustworthy alright,” Q smiled, “I would trust him with my life. We just have a different way of viewing the world, that’s all.”

“I liked him,” James smiled, “he’s totally different to you.”

“Different?” Q remarked, “most people say we’re exactly alike.”

“I know you too well,” James smiled, wrapping his arms around the Quartermaster, “and no one could ever be as unique as you.”

“Now you’re just being sappy.”


	90. Sea of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q go on a yachting holiday in the Mediterranean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rum, who deserves some fluff-y sunshine 00q.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Morning Captain,” Q said, as he climbed up the ladder to the deck. James was standing at the wheel, sunglasses already on as he steered their small yacht through the morning waves. It was a glorious sunny day without a cloud in sight, as the sea breeze gusted across the sails and pushed them forward.

“Morning, Q,” James smiled as Q clambered into the cockpit and lay back against the warm wood. The fresh sea air was refreshing in the heat, stopping Q from becoming unbearably hot. James looked perfectly at home in his white shirt and wide shorts, steering their yacht with a practised ease.

“How are we getting on?” Q asked, “I can’t have been asleep for too long”

“Three hours,” James replied, carefully driving the boat down the back of the waves, “we should be getting near now.”

“Morning in a Greek port,” Q squinted up at James, “I’m looking forward to trying the food.”

“You’re always interested in the food.”

Q frowned.                                            

“I remember _someone_ eating their way through most of the bread in Cyprus,” Q stood up, standing next to James. When they had first hired the yacht, Q had found balancing on the constantly moving boat almost impossible. Now he was as proficient as James, whose years in the Navy had meant he seemed to have an innate connection with the sea.

“My turn,” Q said.

“You remember what I taught you?”

Q raised an eyebrow

“James, please,” Q said, taking the wheel firmly. James stepped back, allowing Q to gently get a feel for the boat as he steered it through the waves. He _was_ getting better, slowly, although he didn’t yet have James’ natural touch with directing the boat to the fasted point of sailing.

“You’re pretty good,” James said, wrapping his arms around Q and resting his head on Q’s shoulder, “maybe you should become a pirate.”

“I would have a far easier time just making the username pirate and hacking people’s databases to make them _think_ I had been there,” Q replied. James pressed a kiss into Q’s neck.

“Of course you would,” James said, “but I think you would suit the eyepatch.”

“You think?”

“You would be terrifying,” James said, as he reached out to correct Q’s direction a little. Q slid his hand over James’ their fingers interlocking with one another. It was incredibly peaceful out here in the ocean, without another soul in sight and just the gusts of breeze blowing over the deck.

“Now what was it Jack Sparrow said in the Pirates movie?” James asked.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” Q replied with a smile, “and I think the phrase you’re looking for is _‘bring me that horizon’,”_


	91. Not Strictly Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's found Moriarty, now he needs 007 to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tigrasevaddict who prompted 'James knows about the "death" of Sherlock because he have watched this with Q. One day Q ask James to have a mission "secretly" from MI6 in fact it's an order or Mycroft and specially one question of Q it's to help Sherlock to stop Moriarty.' Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond or Sherlock, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“Hello?” James called in the empty warehouse. Dogs barked outside in the dusty alley way, and James fought down the urge to adjust his tie in the heat.

There was nothing there.

James slipped his gun out of his jacket, sliding into the shadows of the building. Shafts of light fell down through the ceiling where there were holes in the roof, particles of dust illuminated by the light.

 _“He’s definitely there, James,”_ Q said in his ear. James grunted. The man might be Q’s brother, but this mission was totally off the books from MI6. Well, _M_ knew, but then M had been ordered by powers far above him to send James on this mission.

According to Q, those powers above were called _Mycroft,_ the eldest Holmes brother.

“James Bond, I presume?” a haughty voice said next to James.

James’ reactions were immediate, gun swinging around to press against the temple of the man standing behind him. In the dim light, James could just make out the tall pale frame and high cheekbones which he recognised from Q. The eyes, however, were far more terrifying, as if the man knew everything about James with just one glace.

“Sherlock Holmes?” James asked, not lowering his gun until he had confirmation from Q.

 _“It’s him,”_ Q said. James could hear the relief in his Quartermaster’s voice that Sherlock was actually _alive._ Before James had been sent out here into the Arse End of Nowhere, Q had told him everything about the middle Holmes brother, mostly about the fact that he could deduce your entire life from a shoestring and that he was chasing the master criminal known only as James Moriarty.

“You’re looking good for a dead man,” James remarked, lowering the gun.

“So are you, Mr Bond,” Sherlock replied, “assuming that my brother is listening, Q please inform Mycroft that I am _not_ going to come home until I’ve caught Moriarty.”

“I’m not a messenger service,” James growled.

“Of course not,” Sherlock waved his hand absently, “you’re a British Secret Agent who has served your country longer than most, if your reliance on the old method of holding your weapon is anything to go by and your refusal to use more recent equipment. Although you are using the most recent development from Q branch as your earpiece suggests that you don’t mind using new technology when you have to-”

Sherlock paused in his deduction, eyes widening slightly.

“I assume it goes without saying that if you hurt my brother I will destroy you,” Sherlock’s smile was menacing enough to make James twitch for his gun.

 _“Tell Sherlock he’ll an arsehole and I can date who I bloody want to,”_ Q said in James’ ear.

“Q says thanks for the concern,” James smiled as Q protested vehemently in his ear, “now Mr Holmes I do believe we have a criminal to capture?”

“Indeed,” Sherlock’s grin widened, “he is currently going by the name of George Belini.”

“I don’t recognise it,” James frowned.

“He’s the person who helped set up your friend Silva with his little island,” Sherlock said, “and he’s currently staying in a rather well guarded hotel not four streets from here.”

“Well guarded,” James chuckled darkly, “that hardly presents a problem.”

“I thought as much,” Sherlock commented, “shall we go assassinate a criminal, Mr Bond?”

“My pleasure, Mr Holmes.”


	92. The newest Q branch inventions and how to effectively get rid of them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James seemed to be incapable of keeping Q's equipment safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday fic for Entangled! Hope you like it dear, and that you had the most wonderful of birthdays! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit! :)

The gun which recognised James’ palm print was left in a pit of komodo dragons.

It wasn’t his fault, James reckoned. Even Q branch couldn’t have forseen that James would have to battle against the guards _and_ dragons. Plus, he hadn’t forgotten the gun per se, he just preferred living over being eaten by dragons.

Q had given James his tired glance as James explained just how he had lost his gun, before waving James away and muttering something about ‘waste of government money’ and ‘bloody 007’.

x-x-x

The watch which could also fire poisonous darts was dropped from a helicopter into the Amazon.

“Woops,” James winced. Q growled down the comms at him.

“007,” Q said darkly, “am I to assume that your _state of the art watch_ has just ‘disappeared’.”

“Not quite disappeared,” James remarked wryly, “I’m actually still seeing it fall this very second.”

“Fall where?”

“Into the Amazon,” James replied. Q paused at the other end of the line.

“Amazon?” Q asked, “why are you even over the-”

“It’s where the trail led,” James said, “although I did get you a present.”

“If it’s not my watch I’m not interested-”

“It’s one of those tourist items,” James said, pulling the small wooden totem out of his pocket and turning it over in his hand.

“A cheap knock off is not going to replace the watch,” Q replied.

“But you’ll love it anyway,” James smiled, “you like presents.”

“I like my equipment back in one piece, 007,” Q shuffled some papers down the other end of the comms, “now please ensure _you_ don’t fall of the helicopter and follow the watch.”

“You care about my safety?”

“I care about the number of forms I would have to fill in if 007 fell to his death from a helicopter,” Q replied sharply.

The comms clicked off.

“Having a domestic are you sir?” the pilot turned and grinned from the cockpit. James rolled his eyes, Imogen was the first one to poke fun at him.

“Shut up 002,” James settled back into his seat, “let’s fly home.”

x-x-x

When his car blew up, it _wasn’t_ his fault.

“What was that?” Q asked, “007, report.”

“They blew up my car,” James growled, hiding behind the oil barrels. The entire warehouse was on fire now, and the empty remains of the ships on the old shipyard looked even more haunting in the flickering flames.

“Now you know how I feel,” Q suggested, “and I had just outfitted that car.”

“I know,” James said, sliding down to a crouch and listening to the approaching footsteps of one of the thugs. When the thug was a few steps away, James slid up from his crouch, knife easily sliding between the man’s ribs.

“One down,” James said, “can you give me an update on the others?”

“Two following them,” Q remarked, “on your left.”

James picked up the fallen man’s machine gun, finding new cover as the next two approached.

“I think I’m going to make a guide,” Q said in James’ ear, “’The newest Q branch inventions and how to effectively get rid of them’.”

“Please,” James whispered, as the two guards approached, “I don’t just _‘get rid’_ of them.”

“Yes, effectively destroy,” Q said, “but I don’t want the new welcome pack for agents to include ways of _destroying_ my equipment.”

“Hold that thought,” James said, as he jumped up from his hiding place, shooting the two guards in the chest and setting off across the burning warehouse. He had seen some lorries earlier parked around the back. With his car now in flames, that would be his only route out.

“The others are still milling around your car,” Q said, “but a few of them are breaking off to do sweeps.”

“That’s for the cheery update,” James said, dodging the burning timber that lay across his path. The heat of the flames was intense, and soon James’ body with slick with sweat.

“I’ll give them a few distractions,” Q tapped on his keyboard, “although I expect a present for the destruction of the car.”

“Let me stop at the market stalls that are so common in burning shipyards,” James commented dryly, as he rounded the corner and dashed across the open ground towards the parked lorries. Gunfire followed his footsteps, and James fired back in retaliation as he slid behind one of the lorries.

“Right,” James said, “distraction now please, Q.”

“On it,” Q replied. Suddenly the alarms which were still functioning across the other end of the shipyard began to go off, distracting James’ assailants for a moment.

“Thanks,” James said, wrenching the door to the lorry open and jumping into the driver’s seat. It was only the lorry cab, without a trailer on the back, which meant he should be able to get enough speed up to get clear.

“They’re coming back over,” Q said, “too fast, they must have radios.”

“Fantastic,” James said, jump starting the engine. The lorry roared in to life, and James slammed the handbrake off as he shoved it into first, pressing the accelerator down to the floor.

The lorry shot off, not impeded by the trailer it usually carried. James fought against the wheel, making the lorry turn to the gates which led to his exit. All of this seemed rather dramatic just to allow Q access to another part of their servers a few miles down the road.

“They’re rounding the back now,” Q said, just as bullets begun to hit the back of the cab.

“Noted,” James said, as he sped up even further, driving at the gate with a fierece determination. Shots fired all across his vision, as James barrelled through the gates and out onto the road.

“Right,” James said, fiddling with the earpiece, “what was that thought I asked you to hold earlier?”

“Recompense for losing my equipment,” Q said, “and for me writing a more favourable description of your antics in this guide.”

“You’re actually going to make it?”

“Of course,” Q snorted, “how else do you think I’ll keep the newbies in line?”

“Oh I’ll sure you’ll manage,” James smirked, “so what do you want?”

“Dinner,” Q said, “and a nice one at that. One where you have to wear a suit.”

James grinned. If he wore a suit, his flirting would go far further.

“Done,” he replied.


	93. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain barely bothered him, although Q assumed it was because of the fact that James was an angel. Angels were barely bothered by demons, they weren't even going to blink at the weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short ficlet in the same universe as [Reciprocation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/836183).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“This sucks,” Q said as the rain continued to tip down on top of them. Their only lead had turned out to, and the weather meant they were stuck outside in the soaking wet with nowhere to go.

“You humans are so over dramatic,” James commented in his usual serious tone. The rain barely bothered him, although Q assumed it was because of the fact that James was an _angel._ Angels were barely bothered by demons, they weren’t even going to blink at the weather.

Q gritted his teeth, pulling his coat tighter to him. The material was wet through, barely offering any protection against the incessant weather.

“I’m not over dramatic,” Q remarked, “our only lead has disappeared, and we’re stuck out in the _pouring rain_ with nothing to kill.”

“I don’t know,” James smirked slightly at Q, “you look quite adorable with your hair flattered against your face for that.”

Q glared at him.

“I am not adorable,” Q muttered, “I kill demons, I kill monsters, I fight the terrors that most couldn’t stand. And you’re telling me that I look _adorable?”_

James shook his wings insufferably.

“You are a human,” he said, bringing one of his hands up to wipe the stray fringe from Q’s eyes, “you are not warriors, and that is a _good_ thing.”

“I have to be a warrior though,” Q said, reaching up to fold his hand within James’, “otherwise how am I supposed to defeat the monsters?”

“You know,” James said, “I used to know the warriors of old, the ones you only know in myth and legend. I even knew the man you now call King Arthur.”

Q raised his eyebrow. James hadn’t told him this story before, even though they had been working and living together for over a year.

“What was he like?”

“Much like yourself,” James twisted his head to one side, “although with a little more muscle.”

“Oi, I can wrestle _you,”_ Q said.

“That’s only because I let you,” James smirked, pulling his arm around Q. Q leant into the angel, who was still warm despite the cold rain that continued to fall. Q never thought he would find someone to share his life with, after all the profession he was in hardly allowed for any significant others.

Apart if the significant other in question was an angel.

Q lay his head on James’ shoulder, shutting his eyes and letting the rain run over his skin. He couldn’t feel the cold now, just the gentle trickle of the water running down his arms and back, and the soft touch of James’ hand over his own.

Q barely heard the soft flutter of feathers, yet he did feel the rain stop hammering into the side of his face. He opened his eyes just a fraction to see the dark shape of James’ wing over him, stretched out to protect him from the rain.

“What about you?” Q asked. James smiled, snapping his fingers and summoning an umbrella from thin air.

“Why couldn’t you have done that earlier?” Q said, smiling.

James shrugged.

“I didn’t think of it then,” James replied simply, pushing up the umbrella over his own head, “anyway, you _are_ cute when you’re wet.”

Q rolled his eyes, snuggling into James.

“We’ll see about that,” he replied.


	94. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a hacker. James is the agent sent to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Han who prompted ‘Q comes up on MI6's radar as an asset worth acquiring. Gov't, love of country, budget, nothing could sway him to join any gov't intelligence sector (this is all pre-movie btw) for some reason or another. In one last ditch effort to recruit Q, they throw Bond at him. While James may grow to like Q as a friend, he never actually thinks of him sexually past being a requirement of the job. . The thing I find most interesting about this kind of concept is the potential for cross talk. with only one side really getting both layers. Not to say Q is naive... but just so painfully in love. Maybe Bond even gets pangs of regret that he really likes the guy but just has no sexual desires for him.’ My muse read ‘Bond is Straight, Q is Bi, Seduction, Angst’ and then suggested this! So a little off prompt, but I hope you still enjoy it. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> **WARNING: Angst, Character Death**

Light scattered through the thin curtains.

James Bond stood next to the window, watching the dirty world below him wake up. The kid, well he wasn’t a kid but he was certainly at least ten year James’ junior, was still lying asleep on the bed.

 _Such a shame,_ James thought. He knew what his job would entail him to do sometimes, and this was no different. It was just that he could _see_ the kid falling for his charm and wit, and it was a situation James did not need to be in.

The kid, who went by the name of Q, was James’ mark, his asset he was supposed to remove off the radar.

Bond was 007. The number did not only come with a licence, it was an acknowledgement that you were no longer your own man. You were a number, a mess of names and orders, of forgotten nights and blood scattered across the wall. It was the way you stood, the way you talked. It was the way you looked for the exits when entering a room, the way you scanned the crowd to see if someone was following you.

James was a name. His original name, but it was still just a name, a memorandum of his past life. That name said he was not interested in men, that name said he would never be. It wasn’t his fault, just a way his mind was made up, just how the kid in the bed was attracted to both men and women.

The kid was pretty, James knew that. He had also been caught hacking into servers that _no one_ was supposed to be able to access. He was a target and a liability to MI6 and so he had to be killed.

“Sorry, kid,” James raised his gun and fired.

x-x-x

The morning after was always Q’s favourite time.

In his line of work, loneliness was a constant companion. It wasn’t as if he could just go and spill all his secrets to _anyone,_ that would be stupid. He would just get killed by either his employers or _someone else’s_ employers.

James was different.  Q had experienced many lovers throughout his short life, both male and female, but they had always been physical. It had been for the release, the closeness of the physical nature of the act itself. There had never been anything more than that, until James.

James was not just physically attractive. No, there was a _something_ that Q had seen, a way that the confused man had walked into the bar in an unfamiliar place three nights before. The man was clearly a tourist by the cut of his jacket and the uncertain gait of his walk, wandering the backstreets of Q’s city looking for fun.

Q figured that it was only polite to provide that fun for him.

That first evening had been blissful. Q had never really experienced happiness or love, it was why he was in that line of work in the first place. Yet in James’ arms he felt _safe,_ he felt loved, and even in the ridiculousness of the entire situation Q felt his heart quicken a little at James’ subtle touch.

He loved him.

Light scattered through the curtains as Q opened his eyelids just a fraction. In the thin slit, he could see James standing at the window, leaning on the frame nostalgically. A thought of panic flashed through Q’s head, as if James would turn around and end their relationship there and then.

 _This is James,_ Q thought, _I can trust him._

Q didn’t move, not wanting to let James know he was awake. He just smiled, watching James’s chest moved up and down as he breathed steady. He was truly a vision, almost like the statues of the gods in the ancient temples. Muscles moved underneath browned and scarred skin. James had told Q about his childhood, about the abuse he received which had left him with so many scars. Q had learnt every one, pressed his fingers against those muscles and ghosted his palms over that skin.

It was then that Q noticed James shift his stance. It was subtle, but Q had studied James intently over the past few days and he _knew_ that this was different. It was as if James became taller, bolder, more self-assured from the confused and trustworthy tourist Q had met. Q frowned, confused why James would have to change his stance.

James swung around and aimed his gun in one swift movement. Q didn’t move, keeping his eyes tight shut like a child wanting the bad monster to go away.

 _No, no, no,_ Q thought, _not James, not James._

“Sorry, kid,” James whispered.

The gun fired.

The last thought that drifted through Q’s mind before the bullet entered his skull was a simple question.

_Why?_


	95. Am I Worthy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a void between them, one which existed in the moments between words, the missed gestures, and the quiet pause before Q shut the door on James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

There was a void between them, one which existed in the moments between words, the missed gestures, and the quiet pause before Q shut the door on James.

It wasn’t James’ fault. The man tried, oh how he _tried,_ but Q couldn’t find a way of expressing how he felt. He loved James, that was true, but it was this sense of paranoia which he had worn like a cloak since he had been a child. It was a cloak which had once provided safety in the violent and turbulent childhood that he had experience. Always expect to be betrayed, always expect to be stabbed in the back. Never trust someone because all it does it provide them with a method of leverage over you.

Q kicked the leaves on the pavement, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. Even with the collar turned up, the cold wind still bit into his bones. The commuter traffic had already gone, and the dim light of the streetlights glowed dimly in the evening light. He liked it, just him and the world around him, it gave him a sense of peace.

 _I’m so sorry James,_ Q thought, hanging his head down as he allowed his feet to carry him wherever they wanted to take him. Concrete slabs passed under his feet, the individual cracks between the stones morphing into one constant colour of grey. It was a good metaphor for his life really, with the bad always outweighing the good.

He was broken, Q knew that. Everyone at MI6 was broken in some way or another, but sometimes Q felt like he was an observer looking in on the strange and secret world. Outside, people saw the quirky Quartermaster with his cardigans and wide glasses. Inside, Q felt totally different.  It was as if he was made up of thousands of pieces of glass, each one a result of something shattering him in his past. They rattled around inside him, stabbing away at his conscience and stopped him from moving on.

_Can I do this? Am I worthy? Do I deserve this?_

_Do I deserve James?_

A hand grabbed his forearm, stopping his trail of thought.

“What?” Q croaked, lifting his head to see an exhausted James.

“Do you know how fast you walk?” James said, a small smile appearing on his chiselled face.

“James-”

“You think you don’t deserve me,” James interrupted, “but I think you fail to understand that I am just as broken as you.”

“This isn’t a contest,” Q smiled, just a little.

“There is my Q,” James said, brushing away a tear which crawled down Q’s cheek, “I knew you were in there somewhere.”

“You are too good to me,” Q whispered.

“No,” James replied, pressing a kiss to Q’s forehead, “I am the one who is thankful for you.” 


	96. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q can't rely on himself to tell the difference between good and evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kaister who asked for a continuation of [It's a thin line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1221622) and 'I wonder how a relationship with Bond would work since if Q really does fall in love with Bond then I see him with issues of restraint and possessiveness if Bond is hurt or 'taken' from him. Extreme prejudice against those who 'hurt'/'take' Bond. Bond safe and near and unharmed are 'good' and those who take/hurt Bond are 'bad' or something.' I played around with it a little, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q didn’t think himself the brave type.

Sure, holding a gun to someone’s head and demanding they do something could be considered brave by some.  Holding a gun to someone’s head because they were holding the man you loved hostage would be considered brave to others.

Q simply thought it was logical.

The men were threatening James. He was threatening them.

Simple.

“Where is he?” Q asked. There was no point raising his voice, the other man had sweat covering his brow and his hands were shaking.

 _Good,_ Q thought. He knew about how to manipulate people, after all he had been trained under the very best, the criminal known only as Moriarty.

“I don’t know,” the man’s voice cracked, as tears begun to run down the man’s face. Q rolled his eyes. Tears wouldn’t save the man from death, after all Q had already decided he was going to die.

The only question was if the man was going to give him any useful information before he departed to the other side.

“Are you sure?” Q asked evenly.

The man’s shoulders shook as he sobbed.

Q rolled his eyes.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The crying man’s head snapped back with the force of the shot, his body slumping to the floor.

“Thank you,” Q remarked, stepping over the body. The blood spatter across the wall opposite wouldn’t be able to be removed, but then Q wasn’t intending to hang around.

Q calmly tucked his gun back inside his jacket, and continued down towards the fire escape staircase. His free hand dipped into his pocket, pulling out the earpiece and pushing the small piece of metal back into his year.

“Q?” James’ voice asked.

_Find your centre, Q._

Q shoved his weight against the rusty door, stumbling into the staircase. His legs felt weak, as the familiar feel of panic that always swept him away whenever he wasn’t sure what was right.

“I’m alright,” Q said, his voice wavering slightly, “have you got the disks?”

“Of course,” James said, “I’m at the bottom of the fire escape.”

“Nice car?”

“It’s one of the land rover’s in the car park.”

“That’ll do,” Q replied.

_Should I have killed that kid?_

“I’m moving,” Q said, pushing himself up. He stumbled forward, only managing to catch himself on the handrail which ran on the inside of the stairs.

“You sure you’re alright, Q?” James asked again.

“I’m fine,” Q said with gritted teeth. James worried to much about him, he wasn’t an robot just someone who couldn’t quite get why people did certain things.

_Am I evil?_

Q continued to make his way down the stairs. Alarms continued to ring all around him, Q had purposefully let their circuit stay on to cause as much commotion as possible. Q branch should be slowly harvesting all the data they need from the computer network by now.

“Floor three,” Q breathed, as he passed the giant red _3_ that was written on the wall, the red paint flaking off with age.

“You did the right thing, Q,” James said, “that man would have talked.”

“How do you know-”

“Please, give the 00 Agent some credit,” James chuckled. Despite his paranoia and doubt, Q smiled slightly as he stumbled past the giant _2_ sign.

“You still good?” Q asked, as he fumbled down the final set of stairs. He pulled his gun out of his jacket, holding the weapon easily as he shoved the final door and stumbled out onto the road. James was waiting a few feet from the door, already opening the car door of the land rover for Q to jump in.

“Good timing,” James said, hammering the accelerator as Q slammed the door shut. Q sagged against the seat of the car, glad that James was in control of their direction finally. It was hard to try and act in the field in his state, even though psyc had cleared him for this mission. He couldn’t trust his gut instinct, after all he had grown up under the tutelage of one of the world’s master criminals. He wasn’t as bad as he had been, which was all down to James’ influence, but he still couldn’t trust himself.

But he could trust James.

“Thank god that’s over,” Q said, as James swung out onto the main road, putting the miles between them and anyone who could follow.

“You did good,” James said, placing one of his hands over Q’s, “and you’ll be able to trust yourself.”

“One day,” Q replied, “but for now I have you.”


	97. Autonomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an exercise in trust to tell someone about your past. However, Q is not sure how James will react to finding out just how violent his past really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kaister who asked for a continuation to Ventricular Fibrillation and Haemorrhage, and prompted 'Assassin!Q I wonder about his past and training and why he stopped and choose to be tech support/scientist and just how Bond got under his skin for him to be this protective/possessive and if they are in a relationship or if this is pre-relationship and Q is trying to win Bond over or what.' I hope you like it!
> 
> Contination of [Ventricular Fibrillation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1243524) and [Haemorrhage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1604564).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
>  **WARNING** : Torture, violence.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” James whispered to Q.

Q frowned at the floor, fiddling with the end of his cardigan. He more or less _had_ to give some explanation to James about his past life, how else was he supposed to explain how he took down all those men? Q knew James, even if the agent was polite enough to not question if Q didn’t want to say anything, the questions would be gnawing away inside him anyway.

It was an exercise in trusting one another. Their relationship had been going on for long enough now, and their pasts were a void which had begun to push them apart.

“No,” Q replied, “I do.”

x-x-x

The story starts when a boy named Nathan is ten years old.

His family are part of the wrong crowd anyway. There wasn’t really much hope for him to get out of the vicious cycle that fate and circumstance had mapped out for him. Those years were one mass of grey, memories which the elder Nathan, now only known as Q, would rather forget.

There had been one opportunity given to him. A person known as ‘L’ appeared at their house one day. He said that he could pay of Nathan’s family’s debts in return for Nathan himself.

Nathan left home the next day, future unsure.

x-x-x

He was trained by the best.

Nathan never knew why he was trained, but he enjoyed it none the less. There were classes of children under L’s tutelage, boys and girls, who all fought with vicious tenacity that was battered into them. Nathan found himself becoming stronger, faster, more nimble than he could have ever imagined.

It was an environment which nurtured strength, endurance, but not the more subtle emotions like love and kindness. As Nathan grew older, he found Love to be nothing more than a carnal act, for the passion and fury of the hormones and the closeness of the contact as opposed to anything deeper. There were no relationships, just flings that people had with one another in the hours they had between people.

The closest Nathan ever got to trust was with a girl who called herself Athena after the Greek goddess of Wisdom. She was as tall as Nathan, with a willowy body which always made enemies underestimate her. Nathan knew better, she was like a viper when it came to her fighting style, it was why they sparred so often against one another.

Neither knew about the other’s past. Nathan was pretty sure he could hear a faint lilt in Athena’s voice which spoke of a European heritage, but then all of L’s children were taught to manipulate their voices and bodies to go under cover. For all Nathan knew, Athena could have come from somewhere totally different and just left the hint of her accent behind to confuse people.

“Nathan,” Athena whispered to Nathan. They were curled up under the blankets, watching the stars pass overhead. The night air was cold, but both of them were so used to living in the extreme conditions the world could throw at them they barely felt it.

“Yes,” Nathan replied quietly. This was their last night on exercise before they had their final test, and were given their tasks by L. It was a right of passage that they had both seen their elders pass through, never to be seen again.

“Do you ever want out?” she asked, twisting in Nathan’s arms and looking up at him.

“Out?”

“Y’know,” she continued, “to have a normal life, like normal people.”

“This is my out,” Nathan whispered, kissing her gently, “I gave up all hopes of normality long ago.”

“But do you wonder?” she whispered. Nathan smiled, inhaling her sweet scent deeply, trying to capture the moment in his memory.

“Of course,” Nathan said, “how can you not?”

“One day,” Athena said, “I’ll get out,”

“And I’ll come with you,” Nathan replied.

x-x-x

Five years later, Nathan found himself in a small room with only ‘L’ and a person called Peter.

Peter was tied to a chair tightly. His wrists and ankles were bloody from where the rope chaffed against his skin. Nathan had been taught in the art of torture, he knew when something had been set up to lead to the victim’s death.

This wasn’t an information gathering session, it was a lesson.

A lesson in loyalty.

“Nathan,” L said, his smile even more horrific as the single light bulb that flickered above them cast shadows about the room, “this is your final test.”

“Test, sir?” Nathan asked, unsure. He might be proficient in the methods of torture, but it didn’t mean he liked to use them. He preferred cracking codes to people, the process was always far less bloody and much more satisfying.

However, L was more sadistic. He liked watching the light slowly fade from a subject’s eyes, he liked the feeling of power over the subject.

“This man,” L said, arm lashing out and grabbing Peter’s hair to snap his head back, “is a traitor.”

“How so sir?” Nathan asked, trying to keep his voice even. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat, the disgust at the broken and battered form in front of him. L said that Nathan always had too much empathy for the victim, never enough strength to do what was necessary.

“He is an agent,” L whispered, sliding a knife off from the table behind him and placing it against Peter’s neck. Nathan could see Peter’s eyes widen in fright, as he fought against his bindings. No matter how hard a man was trained, the basic instinct of fearing death was present in every man.

“An agent of the British Empire,” L said, bringing the knife close to Peter’s neck. Q could see half healed wounds across Peter’s chest where L had carefully ensure that every cut was precisely placed to cause maximum pain.

“An agent of filth,” L repeated, “who fights in the name of honour and freedom but whose soul is as rotten.”

“What did he do wrong?” Nathan asked quietly.

“He told them my name,” L whispered, smiling wider as Peter’s movements became more frantic as he struggled to get free, “and for that he shall die.”

L pulled the knife sharply across Peter’s throat. Blood cascaded down Peter’s neck as the skin split. L stepped away from the body, careful not to spill any blood on his own clothing.

“That is the lesson,” L said, looking up at Nathan, “your loyalty so far has bought you to greatness, but it shall be tested.”

“I will be loyal,” Nathan said.

 _I want out,_ he thought.

x-x-x

Nathan actually escaped one year later.

It was mostly down to his skills with the computer, skills which he had purposefully undersold whenever he had been tested on them. According to L, he could barely operate a windows operating system, instead of being able to hack into any system in the world and set up numerous false identities for himself.

The premise was easy. Get on a ferry as one person, get off as another. It was a simple case of hacking the ferry’s wifi system to say that an extra person, his new persona, had actually got on the ferry. When he got off, Nathan Fawley was no longer.

Now he was called Mark Smith, hacker, criminal, and offering his services to MI6.

Two years later, he gained the title of Q.

x-x-x

“That’s it,” Q finished.

“So you can kick arse,” James said, “and there I was thinking you were just a skinny geek.”

“I’m not a skinny geek,” Q said, punching James on the shoulder. It felt better telling someone, so another knew who he _really_ was inside.

“No,” James said, pulling Q into a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of his forehead, “you’re _my_ skinny geek.”


	98. Beam Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q watches the stars after James dies, looking for the lost part of his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet written to 'Beam Me Up' my Pink, from which the title is taken.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

Q looked at the night sky.

It was beautiful, one of the few things he still found beautiful after all this time. The stars sparkled like tiny diamonds, their light barely visible against the inky black sky. Q found their presence comforting, it was as if they said that the universe wasn’t totally against him. The universe was so large, so distant and unknown, it placed all of Q’s problems into perspective.

Q liked to think that up with those stars were the souls of all the people he had lost over his life. It had been long enough after all, for those around him to start passing away. First it was his family, then it was his friends, and finally it had been James.

 _Hey, James,_ Q thought at the sky.

There was no answer, and there never would be. The logical part of Q’s brain, the one which had broken into the world’s best computer systems all those years before. Now, he liked to indulge the philosophical side of his brain, the side which postulated that James had to be somewhere out in that vast universe.

For him, that was a comfort. It was as if James was constantly looking down on him, up there somewhere among the stars.

Q shut his eyes, leaning against the cold grass. He should go soon, his old bones were beginning to chill in the cool night air. The breeze rustled the branches in the trees surrounding the park, their gentle whispers intelligible to Q.

Yet in the whispers of the wind, Q could swear he could hear a gentle warm voice, one which had been part of his life for so long.

 _“Hey, Q,”_ it said, _“I’m here.”_


	99. Last Minute Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James have to work together to plant the tracker on the mark, but Q still thinks that the suit isn't needed.
> 
> James disagrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rum, who is always wonderful and amazing! Well done on the interview! :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.

“So this is the plan?” Q asked James, poking his sushi uncertainly. The suit felt too large on him, although James said it fitted him perfectly. However many times James said that Q suited wearing smart suits, Q thought he looked a little like a penguin. It was James, who lounged next to him comfortably in the booth with his customary suit fitting in all the right places, who wore the clothing naturally.

“The plan is that you plant the tracker on the mark,” James replied, voice totally at ease. Q fiddled with his sushi nervously. He was no agent, it was only due to a last-minute panic when James realised that the mark knew him as an agent from a previous job that Q had been drafted in.

It seemed so simple. James would greet the mark, Q would slip the tracker into the man’s pocket.

“So why do I have to look like a penguin?” Q asked.

“Because,” James purred, “you look good in it.”

Q raised his eyebrow.

“Please,” James said, smile tugging across his face, “it’s not often I get to put you in a suit on the Queen’s expense.”

“More like MI6’s expense,” Q said, “Eve’s going to be pissed.”

“She’s the one who suggested it,” James’ eye twinkled with mischief. Sometimes the most dangerous agent in the whole of MI6 was nothing more than a child.

“He’s approaching,” Q said, nodding across the room. The sushi bar they were in was not that busy, with thematic dim lighting and wide open booths with the main serving area centred in the middle of the restaurant.

“Just as planned,” James said. Q could see the subtle shift in his stance from just where he was sitting as the mark approached.

Neil Letchard was a slim, short man who wore clothing which was far more expensive than his money could afford. He was embroiled in with the group James was looking for, international thieves with a perchance for blackmail and bribery to undermine governments.

“James,” Neil said as he approached the table, giving Q a disdainful look.

Ah yes, that would be the effect of James chatting up Neil to get the information on the last mission.

“Hello,” Q said smoothly, standing up and holding out his hand towards Neil. Neil didn’t respond.

“I do believe the protocol is to shake it,” Q said, smiling thinly. That ruffled Neil’s feathers, his face crinkling up in anger. Slowly, he extended his hand to shake Q’s.

Q reacted instantly, stepping in closer to Neil and sliding the tracker into the man’s pocket, before stepping away in one smooth motion.

 _All those times swiping James’ pass are actually useful,_ Q thought ruefully to himself as he slid back down into the booth again.

“Yes,” Neil said, narrowing his eyes at Q. Q continued to smile widely, enjoying the discomfort.

“As I was saying,” Neil said, turning towards James, “you are welcome to come to the gambling session this evening.”

That was it, James’ entrance into Neil’s connections. Coupled with the tracker Q had just planted, they were well set for closing in on their targets.

“I would be delighted,” James replied smoothly, sliding his arm around Q. Neil looked even more irritated, shoulders pulled forward and a flicker of anger passing across his face. Q lent into James, trying not to laugh as Neil’s face became more of a picture.

“Indeed,” Neil said thinly, swivelling on his heel and walking away from their table. Q let his giggles spill over a little, trying to keep his laughter under control.

“You were good,” James murmured into Q’s hair, “you should become an agent.”

“Unlikely,” Q smirked, leaning up to kiss James lightly, “anyway, if I became an agent who would you have to make your guns?”

“Or exploding pens,” James said, “I’m still waiting for that.”

“Only if you’re good,” Q replied.


	100. Bolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q meets Athena in a coffee shop, and finds out that his past is not as distant as it first seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For DancingEyes who suggested 'Q would do if he saw Athena again?' and then I added plot
> 
> Continuationof [Ventricular Fibrillation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1243524), [Haemorrhage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1604564) and [Autonomy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1748030)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit!

“Hey,”

Q looked up from his book. It was a Sunday, and one of the few days he actually had _off_ from saving James’ arse all around the world. James at that moment in time was somewhere over the Atlantic on his way home. He was due back at MI6 at eight the following day, which would mean he would break into Q’s flat at about three am from the road-side window.

Q didn’t recognise the woman who slid into the seat opposite Q. She had a sharp black bob, with a light hint of eyeliner and mascara. Her nails were blood red, as they clutched her bag with a delicacy which seemed slightly forced.

“Do I know you?” Q asked, carefully placing his bookmark back into his book as his brain tried to furiously remember just _where_ he could have met this woman previously.

“Please, Nate,” the woman said, smiling slightly, “don’t you remember me?”

Q’s eyes widened.

“Athena,” he breathed in shock.

“Long time no see,” Athena said, “and I must congratulate you on the life you are in at the moment.”

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” Q cocked his head to one side, “I’m guessing that the dress you’re currently wearing is in the hundreds?”

“Thousands,” Athena replied, “I managed to get out as well. Lucrative business this normal world, when you know where to look.”

Q raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Nothing underhand,” Athena chuckled lightly, and Q could see a crack in her formal exterior. Like him, his original personality was hidden so deep within himself that it barely surfaced.

“Good,” Q remarked, picking up his tea and taking a sip, “I would hate to have to run you down.”

“With your good looking boyfriend?”

Q’s cup paused on the way back to the saucer.

“Don’t sweat,” Athena replied with a smile, “it’s because of your boyfriend that I’m here.”

She unclipped her bag, pulling out slim file from within and sliding it over to Q.

“A bit melodramatic I know,” Athena said, as Q slid the file onto his lap and out of sight, “but it’s for the best.”

“Best?”

“The woman you’re looking for is called Maria Teli,” Athena said, “she’s the one who screwed your boyfriend over.”

“Literally or metaphorically?” Q asked.

Athena smirked. Their pasts had forced them to be less attached than most people, it was a nature of their training. Q knew that James had to sleep with people for the job, and James knew that Q’s information wasn’t always gained through hacking networks.

“Metaphorically only,” she said, “although possibly it would be literally if they met on James’ next mission.”

“So kind of you,” Q asked, swilling the tea around his teacup, “to help me, to help _us,_ after all these years.”

He looked up and stared at Athena with the same intense gaze he gave James whenever he returned from a mission with his gadgets in pieces.

“But why now?” Q asked, voice hardening, “after all these years why now?”

Athena paused, chewing the corner of her lip slightly. It wasn’t that she forgot herself, no it was a sign to Q that she was in trouble.

“I need help,” Athena said.

“Of course,” Q replied, “and how do you know that I can offer it to you?”

“You know that time on the hilltop?” Athena said, “when we talked under the stars?”

Q nodded wordlessly.

“We wanted out,” Athena smiled sadly, “and we got out.”

“But?”

“But now someone is trying to tie up the loose ends,” Athena leant forward, voice lowering to the barest whisper, “someone who was L’s superior.”

“L didn’t have a superior,” Q said, “he couldn’t-”

“He did,” Athena cut off Q, “and that superior has strings far deeper than any of us could have known.”

“How so?”

“Your boyfriend,” Athena said, “is an orphan.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re asking the wrong question,” Athena said.

“So what question should I be asking?” Q pressed.

“Who was it who killed his parents?” Athena nodded towards the folder on Q’s lap, “who is trying to round up people like us, people like Maria.”

“Maria was part of L’s training?” Q frowned, “we would have known.”

“She was on another program,” Athena said, “and it’s the members of her group who are being targeted next.”

“So why is she a target?” Q said.

“If she breaks,” Anthea said, “they come after you and me. They come after everyone we’ve ever come into contact with, everyone we’ve even so much as exchanged a glance with.”

“Shit,”

“My precise feelings,” Athena stood up, “can you give me a cool name at least?”

“How do you know I’m going to help you?” Q asked.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Athena said, bending down to peck Q on the cheek.

“Nice meeting you again,” Athena smiled, “stay safe.”

“You too,” Q said as Athena walked away from the table. He waited until she had left the café until he slid open the folder on his lap. A single piece of paper lay on top of Maria Teli’s information, with rushed handwriting scrawled over it.

_Eleven O’clock._

Q looked up and out of the misty café window, towards the eleven o’clock position. There was a small blue car parked on the side of the road, looking innocent enough.

 _Shit,_ Q thought, _they’ve found us already._

Athena wasn’t looking for Q for help. She was trying to help Q.

Q did the only thing he could in that situation.

He bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I've hit 100 chapters! Isn't that exciting? Thank you all for your marvellous responses to all of my little fics so far!
> 
> To ease navigation and organisation, I'm going to start a new fill fic now I've hit 100 chapters on this one. The title will be _Bridge of Vines_ and there will be a link going up when I post the first fill! 
> 
> Thanks for your support so far, and hope to see you all over at my new 00Q collection! :)


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